


Human Together

by RobotWendigo



Series: Human [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Abduction, Alcohol, American Sign Language, Angst, Blood, Creampie, Crying, Cuddling, Deviates From Canon, Domestic, F/M, Fake Science Heavily Based In Real Science, Female Reader, Fluff, Gore, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Mates, Menstruation, Multiple Orgasms, Nightmares, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Protectiveness, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Size Difference, Tentacles, Teratophilia, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting, Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 118,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25100071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobotWendigo/pseuds/RobotWendigo
Summary: Weeks after the culmination of the Raccoon City Incident, the country is still in a state of shock and confusion. You are one of the lucky survivors of the zombie outbreak. Now you are free to live out a peaceful life in the mountains of Oregon with your lover.Oh, and your lover just so happens to be a bio-organic weapon engineered by Umbrella Corporation.
Relationships: Nemesis/Reader
Series: Human [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797358
Comments: 235
Kudos: 296





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again dear readers! As I mentioned in the author’s notes at the end of Human, I have decided to write a sequel. Originally, I was going to stick to fluff, but then I got to them kissing in the shower and was like “welp, here comes the smut”, and then a plot started developing and then I had some dark ideas and… now this exists. Yeah. I plan to update on Wednesdays and Sundays as per the usual.

_Thursday, October 15, 1998_

Early morning sunlight filters in through the eastern window and dapples the wooden floorboards with patches of soft gold. Eyelids flutter drowsily as the faint sound of autumn songbirds rouses you from your sleep. Warmth and comfort surround your entire being, from the muscular body beneath you to the strong arms wrapped around you. You recall the night before with contentment, how you and your lover shared sweet intimacy after many weeks of sporadic separation.

Your lover is not quite the kind of individual that most women would find ideal. Sure, he is incredibly tall and built like a tank, with a badass fashion sense to boot. He has a dark and brooding backstory, a distinctly deep voice, and the ability to kick the ass of anyone who dares to threaten you using a wide variety of weapons and melee techniques. And he also happens to be particularly well-endowed in certain aspects of anatomy. When you put it this way, he sounds like the perfect man.

Of course, you mustn’t fail to mention that his skin is rough and tattered, nearly necrotic in texture and appearance. His complexion exhibits a comparable ruggedness in that he has a massive scar, a single soulless white eye, and a lack of lips that consequentially reveals receded gums over teeth that are much too long. His speech consists of single words, and he is more than willing to violently dismember, disembowel, decapitate, or otherwise violently mutilate anything and anyone that he deems worthy of death. You don’t believe he has ever bathed or brushed his teeth in his life, he doesn’t chew his food, and he has terrible separation anxiety. He shoots tentacles out of his hands capable of grappling, strangling, impaling, throwing, and a wide variety of other undesirably dangerous activities. Oh, and he also has a parasitic infection.

But of course, none of that stops you from loving him.

By the abnormally slow and regular rhythm of his breath, you can assume that he is still asleep. This simple deduction astounds you; you have never witnessed him sleeping before. You are greatly tempted to examine his sleeping form, but you fear that even the most subtle of movements will awaken him, so you simply stay where you are with your arms wrapped around him and your head resting on his broad chest.

Your eyes drift to the floor, where both of your clothes sit in a messy pile. In the daylight you can clearly see the stark contrast between your clothes and his. Your clothes are comparatively delicate and colorful and, most significantly, clean. His are durable and leather and quite noticeably soiled with dried blood and guts. The sight would repulse any normal person, but you aren’t quite normal. You’ve seen enough fresh blood and guts over the last few weeks to make this instance of dried human substances completely tolerable.

It occurs to you that the filthy leather garments on the floor are the only clothes he owns, and that simply won’t do now that you two are settling down to live a laughable attempt at a domestic life. Unfortunately, the solution isn’t as simple as going to the clothing store and purchasing some new outfits, seeing as how most clothing stores do not carry the correct sizes for eight-foot-tall monstrosities. You will have to have some clothes custom made and hope that the tailor of your choice doesn’t ask too many questions. Even then, you’ve grown quite attached to the leather attire, and you would hate to throw it out simply because a few dozen people couldn’t keep their blood and guts to themselves. You suppose you could find someone who cleans leather professionally, although it would be awfully difficult to explain why your articles of interest are covered in potential murder evidence.

Speaking of which, he himself is also caked in dried blood and guts. You didn’t really mind it in the heat of lovemaking, but you know you can’t let him stay like this forever. You will see to it that, just like his leather clothes, he too will receive a proper cleaning. Your mind drifts to the attractive image of sharing a hot, steamy shower with him in all his naked glory. Then your mind drifts to the last time you tried to bathe a dirty cat. You desperately hope that he doesn’t take to water like a dirty cat.

He grumbles quietly as his body shifts slightly beneath you. He drowsily opens his single cloudy eye, and you smile up at him. “Good morning,” you say, and he practically purrs at the sound of your voice. He lifts a hand and gently strokes your hair, an impressive feat considering that his palm is about as big as your entire head. You hum quietly and hold him tighter in response to his touch. He brushes your messy hair out of your face and touches your cheek with the back of his fingers, and you lean into him happily. You bring up one of your own hands to hold his hand against your face, trying your best to intertwine your fingers with his despite the awkward size difference.

It amazes you that he knows how to be so gentle and affectionate. From what you can garner, he was never socialized to adhere to human behavioral norms, since that would be a major waste of resources on something viewed solely as a military asset. You doubt he had any phase that could compare to the impressionability of childhood, either. The fact that he still understands how to be loving and protective of your relative fragility is a true testament to the capacity of human instinct. He is, after all, human at his core. A genetically engineered human controlled by a brain parasite, sure, but a human, nonetheless.

You wish the two of you could simply sit here forever. However, you are aware that there are many things that need to be taken care of as soon as possible. Aside from both of you getting cleaned up and expanding your limited wardrobes, you need to reintegrate yourself into industrialized society after being stripped of literally all your material possessions. You’ve lost all your vital records: birth certificate, driver’s license, social security card. You had neither need nor space for a car in the city, but now that you live on a mountain a few miles from the nearest town, you’re going to need some form of personal transportation unless you want to lose your life savings to the public transportation industry. The cabin will need to be stocked with groceries. Your current savings will only last so long before you need to establish a new source of income. On top of all that, you need to start taking measures to ensure that nobody can track you.

“Hey Nemesis?” you start. “I really hate to do this again, but I’m gonna have to leave-“

Nemesis cuts you off by pulling you tightly against him with a possessive growl.

You sigh. “I know, I know. But I need to go into town to take care of some important normal-human-stuff. I won’t be gone for nine days this time. I won’t even be gone for a whole day, I promise.”

Nemesis simply grumbles, not budging.

“Nemesis, I have to at least buy food. We’ll starve if we just stay here forever.” His grip on you loosens slightly, but he still holds on hesitantly. “I’ll bring you back something to eat. And we can get cleaned up together before I leave. Okay?

It takes him a few more moments of careful consideration, but Nemesis reluctantly releases you from his embrace. You sit up on your knees and thank him with a soft kiss on his face, to which he responds with that lovely purring sound again. You carefully remove yourself from his body and get to your bare feet beside the sofa. “How about a shower?” you ask, despite him probably never taking a shower before. Still, he stands up beside you. You smile and take his hand in yours to lead him to the bathroom down the hall, grabbing some plush towels and washcloths out of a linen closet along the way. You contemplate the layout of the cabin, satisfied by its size and structure. You could certainly adjust to living here, at least for a little while.

You push open the door to the bathroom and step onto the cool tile. It is a reasonably sized bathroom with a toilet, a sink surrounded by ample countertop space, and a large standing shower with glass doors. You place the towels on the counter and approach the shower. Thankfully it is aptly sized for both of you, even after taking Nemesis’ massive size into account. You reach out and turn the valve to start the flow of water, and it thankfully works. You feared that the water might be turned off, since nobody was staying in the home before you showed up.

The stream starts out icy cold against your hand, but it gradually heats to a comfortable temperature. You step through the glass door and into the welcoming warmth, then turn and gesture for Nemesis to join you. You make room as he enters the shower to stand beside you. You quickly notice that he is much taller than the height of the showerhead mounted to the wall, and as such the water only manages to hit his upper back. You suppress a giggle at the ridiculous sight, and Nemesis looks down at you curiously.

You take a washcloth and begin your work of scrubbing away all the bloody remnants of past victims from his body. You start by taking and cleaning one of his hands, then work your way up his arm. Despite knowing about his general resilience to damage and regenerative properties, you find yourself handling his skin with utmost tenderness. Perhaps it is the decayed appearance of his skin that gives you the subconscious impression that you’ll damage him if you scrub too hard. Nemesis, meanwhile, seems to be enjoying what you are doing. He watches with admiration as you carefully work to eliminate the rust-colored grime, occasionally producing a quiet rumble of approval. His free arm wraps around you and pulls you against him before his hand strays upward to play with your wet hair. The standing closeness is a bit awkward, considering that you are just above eye level with his dick, but you try to ignore that for now and continue to focus on the matter at hand.

You eventually finish cleaning his forearm and reach up toward his bicep. “Could you bend down a little?” you ask. “I can’t rea-AH!”

You are cut off when Nemesis reaches down and wraps one arm behind your back and one arm under your butt to boost you up such that you are sitting in the crook of his elbow. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck to keep steady as you suddenly find yourself eye level with him. His eye shines with amusement at your reaction.

“I guess this works too,” you say with a nervous smile. You bring the washcloth to his upper arm and continue where you left off. You can feel his gaze boring into you, and you occasionally flit your eyes to the side to look into his. There is something about that cloudy white eye of his that captivates you. Perhaps it is the fact that such a seemingly featureless orb can be so full of emotion. You’ve never seen him look at you with such intense adoration, like he is looking at the most beautiful thing in the world. In your personal opinion, you are far from the most beautiful thing in the world, what with all the scars across your entire body. Then again, he is much more heavily mutilated than you, and you still think he’s smoking hot. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, you suppose.

You proceed to his shoulder, then his neck. This area is much dirtier, since it is one of the few areas that are not covered when he wears his leather clothes. You find yourself needing to scrub more furiously, although you remain cautious of the loose skin around his jaw. That’s when you realize that he’s doing it again, staring at you with that needy adoration. Unable to resist his gaze any longer, you pause your cleaning pursuits and turn to look at him. Caught in the act of ogling you, he quickly tries to recover by nuzzling his face into your neck. You giggle as he deeply breathes in your scent. You’ve never really noticed before now how loud his breathing is. You suppose it must be difficult to breath with such a disheveled face, and part of you feels bad. But another part relishes in the sound of his heavy breaths that send tingles down your spine as they warm your neck. You suddenly wonder what his breath would feel like in… other places…

The thought is quickly quashed when Nemesis pulls his head away to look at you again. You lean forward and start to shower his face with light kisses, to which he purrs contently. You really wish you could make out with him, but you know that’s impossible because he doesn’t have any lips. Still, you wonder how close you can get. You lower your mouth to his teeth and nudge them gently with your lips, encouraging him to open them. He does so, albeit somewhat confused at what you could possibly be doing. That is when you slip your tongue into his mouth, searching for his own tongue until they finally meet. You run your tongue against his, and this seems to clue him in on your intentions. His tongue quickly pushes back against yours, and the two muscles begin to dance and intertwine. The two of you stay in his mouth for a while, but he slowly gains dominance and pushes both your tongues back into your own mouth. The warm wetness of the makeshift kiss riles you up enough to elicit a soft moan into his teeth, and a blush quickly spreads across your face.

Nemesis growls back, the sound filled with burning lust, and you know exactly what you’ve just locked yourself into. Not that you mind; some nice morning shower sex does sound appealing. Nemesis adjusts you to make sure you are comfortable before removing the hand supporting your back, and you rewrap yourself around his neck to keep from falling backwards and cracking your head on the ceramic. His now free hand ventures up to your face and cups your cheek. You turn your head to bury your face in his massive palm and kiss his calloused skin, and he gently runs his thumb over your cheek in return.

His hand moves downward past your neck and collarbone to your breasts, and you push your chest out to provide easier access. Gladly accepting your invitation, he takes one of your breasts in his hand and gives it a small squeeze before gently massaging the soft flesh. He runs a thumb over your nipple, and you inhale sharply at the sensation. Liking the effect it has on you, he takes the nipple between his thumb and forefinger and begins to gently roll the tiny nub, rewarding him with more of your sharp breaths and occasional whimpers. After a while he moves his hand to the other breast to give it the same attention, and you close your eyes to take in the wonderful feeling of being touched so lovingly.

Once he is satisfied with caressing your breasts, he slides his hand down your stomach and past your hips to massage your thighs. You spread your legs for him, but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to get that far. His large fingers knead at your inner thighs, inching ever so close to your folds before casually darting away again. You whine and buck your hips against his body, desperate for his touch, and you feel his chest vibrate with a low laughter. He repeats his teasing motion, pausing his hand just before reaching the place you want him to touch you and then moving away again.

“Nemesis, please…” you whine, and he looks at you as if he has no idea what you are talking about. You know if he could smile, he would be doing so quite deviously right now. He’s really going to make you say it, isn’t he? “Please… I want you to touch me…”

He growls in response as he finally moves his fingers past your inner thighs to the space between your legs, and you instinctively spread your legs wider. He runs his finger along your folds, picking up the slickness that already drenches you. Thankfully his body blocks the stream of water from hitting you and washing away your natural lubrication, all while the surrounding steam and proximity to Nemesis’ body continue to keep your naked body warm. To your surprise, Nemesis raises the finger to his mouth and licks off your juices, wrapping his tongue sensually around his thick finger. Damn, he’s really drawing this out and putting on a show for you. As much as you just want him to fuck you, you must admit that you are really enjoying this.

He once again lowers his hand to stimulate your folds and quickly locates your clit. You recall with amusement how your previous boyfriends always struggled to find that sensitive little pleasure point, yet this B.O.W. can get to it in mere seconds. You never thought you’d see a bioweapon more experienced with sex than several human men, but here you are.

He rubs your clit with his thumb and forefinger while his middle finger slides back and begins to prod around your entrance, sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Your grip around him tightens as his finger slides slowly into you. You would estimate his finger to be about the size of a normal human dick, perhaps a bit skinnier, and as such the sensation of having it inside you is pleasantly comfortable. He holds it still for a moment as he assesses your tightness, then curls it inward slightly to tease at your sweet spot.

“Mmmh… feels good…” you murmur. Encouraged by your words, he curls his finger as far as he can, and you let out a quiet moan. With skillful dexterity, he continues to stimulate your clit as he starts to pump his finger in and out of you, curling it each time he is fully submerged to maximize your pleasure. You lean forward and bury your face in his neck in a futile attempt to stifle the obscene sounds you are making. It’s a good thing you don’t have an apartment with paper-thin walls anymore. In fact, it’s probably a good thing you don’t have neighbors at all.

The finger slides out of you completely and the stimulation of your clit stops as he adjusts his hand to cup you in his palm. You don’t have much time to wonder what he is planning before you feel something completely different slipping back into your entrance: a tentacle. You release a breathy moan as the flexible appendage explores your insides in a way that a finger or a dick never could. It curls and writhes inside you, folding over itself and completely filling you without any unnecessary stretching or discomfort. Unable to contain yourself, you begin to grind against his hand in aroused desperation, yearning for sweet release.

You find your lips caressing his neck with kisses far more passionate than your usual light pecks. He tilts his head to the side to give you access to more, and you gladly take the opportunity. You seal your lips over his neck and suck the skin, drawing out a long, guttural groan from your lover that you’ve never heard before. The sound heats your insides with arousal, and you fight off a smile at the realization that he has a thing for hickeys. Determined to hear him make that gloriously vulnerable noise again, you suck harder. You feel his body shudder beneath you and his tentacle twitch inside you as he loudly groans again. The combination of your lover’s sounds and sensations is enough to push you to the breaking point, and you suck hard as your body is overtaken by orgasm. Both of you moan together as your walls clench around his tentacle and your mouth latches onto his neck like a bloodthirsty leech.

When you finally come down from your high, you pull your lips away from Nemesis’ neck to examine your work. His skin is now adorned with a dark bruise, and part of you feels proud to have marked him as your own, even if it will quickly heal. A single word resonates in your mind at the thought.

_Mates._

You aren’t sure how you feel about that word. It resurfaces unpleasant memories of being taunted by the vulgar Dr. Richards who held you prisoner for Umbrella Corporation. It makes you think of animals, and Nemesis is most certainly not an animal. Yet it also conjures up thoughts of belonging and protectiveness. The word just seems to encompass your feelings better than “partners” or “lovers” or “significant others”. It implies that you belong to him, and he belongs to you, and no force in this world will ever be able to separate that bond.

Yes, you suppose that, despite any negative connotations that come along with it, “mates” is a good word.

Having settled this internal debate, you lean against Nemesis and turn to whisper alluringly into his ear. “ _Your turn_.”

He growls seductively as the tentacle slowly retracts out of you and back into his hand, eager to take you up on that offer. He scoots you down his arm until he is holding you with both hands by the waist, and you loosely wrap your legs around his body for support. Cold tile touches your skin as he backs you against the shower wall, sending a shiver down your spine. You feel yourself being lowered down his body, and you have to adjust your arms to wrap them around his torso. He maneuvers you down past his waist until your crotch is level with his cock, which is now fully erect and throbbing with need.

He first prepares himself by rubbing his impressive member along your delicate folds, covering himself with your wetness. Once sufficiently lubricated, he changes his positioning to be able to push the head of his cock against your clit, and you gasp with both pleasure and surprise. You can hardly believe that he is still going out of his way to pleasure you first, even though you’ve already had your turn. You think back to the first time you had sex with him; all he seemed to care about was getting you adequately wet to take his cock so he could spill his load in you. Now he genuinely cares about taking it slow and giving you a good time and respecting your boundaries.

Like a mate?

He continues to push against your clit, earning him several more small gasps. Still overly sensitive from your recent orgasm, it doesn’t take long before you can already feel another climax building in your core. “S-stop,” you stammer, and he pauses his subtle motions to look at you with a curious tilt of the head. “I want to come… with you inside me…”

He seems to like that idea quite a lot. His cock moves away from your overstimulated clit and toward your entrance. He teases you open and pushes the head inside, followed slowly by the rest of his shaft. You inhale through your teeth as you stretch around his massive size. Even though this is only the fourth time he has penetrated you, the lack of intense pain suggests that your insides have already gotten used to accommodating him. That, or he defied the laws of human physiology and broke all your vaginal pain receptors during your first time together. It _was_ pretty rough.

Now that he is fully sheathed in you, he begins his rhythmic thrusting. You moan as you feel him sliding in and out of you, rubbing against your walls in all the right ways. The force of his thrusts pushes your body up and down the shower wall, which is thankfully slick with water. You lean your head back against the tile so you can look up at the face of your lover through half-lidded eyes. His teeth are parted slightly, and his eye reflects total euphoria as he stares down at your tiny body. You squeeze your legs tightly around him to pull yourself into his thrusts, which earns you a deep growl of pleasure. His fingers dig into your waist as they also work to pull you into him.

“Oh… fuck…” you mumble as pressure continues to build within you. “Nemesis… I… I love… ah…” Your mumbles turn into a cry as you arch your back and come for the second time this morning. Nemesis growls at the feeling of your walls clenching tightly around his cock, invigorating him to thrust faster and harder. Just as you relax from your orgasm, Nemesis gives a few more slow, sporadic thrusts before throwing his head back with a roar. Warmth spreads inside you as he comes, filling you so much that it overflows out around him and drips onto the shower floor. You close your eyes and release a breathy moan, dwelling on the intimate sensation of his essence pouring into you.

Once he is finished, he slides out of you and slowly lowers himself to sit on the shower floor with you still wrapped around him. He lowers his head and nuzzles his cheek against yours with a soft purr, causing you to giggle quietly. You reach up and run your hand over his bald head before peppering his face with more soft kisses. “I brought you in here to clean you up,” you say. “But now you’ve just made a bigger mess.” You tap his face in playful scolding, to which he chuckles lowly before nuzzling you again. The cheeky fucker knows he’s guilty, but he also knows you enjoyed yourself too much to do anything about it.

You reach for the washcloth, which you apparently dropped during your shenanigans, in order to continue where you left off before getting distracted. Now that Nemesis is sitting down, it is much easier for you to reach every area of his body. He continues to lovingly stroke and caress your body as you work, but you try your best to stay focused. When you get to his chest, you note how the skin is particularly deformed where his limiter once clung to his body. You recall how the Umbrella doctor had said the limiter prevented Nemesis from mutating out of control. Yet even with the limiter destroyed, you haven’t seen him mutate in any noticeable way. Perhaps he only mutates under certain circumstances?

It takes you a while to clean the rest of him, as well as yourself, and the water is starting to run cold by the time you finish. Not wanting either of you to get chilled, you stand up as soon as you’re done and shut off the water. Nemesis grumbles disappointedly as he gets to his feet and follows you out of the shower. You grab the towels from the countertop and toss one to Nemesis. You throw your hair over your head and dry it out vigorously before moving on to towel off your body. Once dry, you toss the wet towel to the floor and turn to see how Nemesis is coming along.

To your surprise, Nemesis has not bothered to dry off at all. He is simply standing there, towel in hand, staring off intently with a strange look on his face that you can’t quite discern. You carefully follow his gaze to determine what has caught his attention, but nothing stands out. “Hey, are you alright?” When he doesn’t acknowledge you at all, you reach out to jostle his arm, which simply shakes limply in your grasp. “Nemesis?”

Upon hearing his name, he finally breaks through his trance and turns to look down at you, still bearing that expression that you can’t interpret. After exchanging stares for a few silent moments, he suddenly reaches a hand up and gently caresses your cheek, his gaze softening. His eye once again shows that familiar adoration from before, but there is something else behind it, something that you don’t like at all: sadness. You place a hand over his and try your best to smile despite the sinking feeling in your heart. Why is he looking at you like that? Why was he ignoring you? Is he unhappy? Is it something you did? Is it something you said? Before you can stop it, you feel your smile falter at the corners.

Nemesis notices this and quickly removes his hand from your cheek. He then turns his attention to the towel, which he begins to use to dry himself off. You watch as he meticulously runs the towel over every part of himself, then throws it to the floor on top of yours. He proceeds to just stand there staring at the pile of wet fabric while his arms hang like dead weight at his sides. You step forward and hug his arm. “Is this about me leaving again?” you ask. “I can stay a little longer if it makes you feel better.” Nemesis looks down at you and simply shakes his head. You sigh. If that isn’t what this is about, then what is? “Alright… I guess I’ll go get redressed to head out, then. I’m going to take your clothes into town to get them cleaned; are you okay with hanging around naked for a little while?”

Nemesis nods, albeit halfheartedly. It hurts you so much to see him like this, especially because you don’t know the cause and therefore don’t know how to fix it. He had been so enthusiastic just minutes ago; what changed? You rest your head against his arm and hug him tighter. “I really enjoyed our shower. I really enjoy being with you. I love you a lot, you know.” Nemesis purrs quietly and wraps his other arm around you. You patiently remain in his embrace, allowing him to be the one who decides when to pull away. When he finally does let go, you linger on his arm for a moment longer. Your hand finds its way into his and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

He is your mate, and you are his mate, and you are determined to find out what is bothering him and fix it, no matter what it takes.


	2. The Town

_Thursday, October 15, 1998_

You glance down at the piece of paper in your hand as you walk along the sidewalk of the main street. You had managed to find a phone book in the cabin and looked up a bunch of useful businesses in the town, the addresses of which you have written down. Your plan is to stop by the shop of the local leatherworker to drop off Nemesis’ clothes for cleaning. While that is being taken care of, you’ll run by the supermarket to pick up some groceries. Then you’ll stop by the local clothing stores and shop around to restock your personal wardrobe. That should all take a few hours, and by that time you’ll be able to pick up the leather clothes and take them to the local tailor to get them measured and make some custom orders. It’ll probably take a week or so for the custom orders to be made, so at that point you will call a taxi from the city to take you back to the cabin. All the while, you’ll be sure to scope out any potential job openings at the local businesses. You feel a little overwhelmed by all the errands you need to complete throughout this one trip, as well as the lingering feeling that there is some unknown problem with your mate that you need to sort out and the lingering knowledge that a massive corporation is looking for you with less than benevolent intentions.

A little bell jingles as you push open the door to the leatherworking shop. You are thankful that this seems to be an artisanal town, otherwise you may have had some trouble finding someone who works with leather. A lanky older man with a puffy white mustache glances up from behind the counter, eyeing you with curiosity as you walk across the shop toward him.

“Welcome to Lerch’s Leatherworks,” he says in a surprisingly bright voice for his apparent age once you reach the counter. “You’re a new face, you new around here?”

You give him a friendly smile. “Yeah, I just moved into town.”

The man’s eyes light up. “Ah, is that so? It’s nice to see some young blood moving in to liven up the town. We’re a very tight-knit community, you know. We small businesses rely on you good citizens.”

“It seems like a very nice town,” you reply, a bit nervous to hear about the strong sense of community. The last thing you need is a bunch of strangers prying into your life.

“Well, allow me to kindly welcome you to our humble home,” the man says. “Is there anything in particular I can help you with today?”

You nervously place the large bag you were carrying over your shoulder on the counter. “Actually, yes. I have some leather items that I need professionally cleaned. Do you do cleanings?”

“Absolutely,” the man says with a smile. He reaches toward the bag.

You fidget with your hands as you watch him open the zipper. “Uh, I do have to warn you, it’s a bit… intense…”

The man immediately flinches back upon opening the bag as he is hit with the metallic smell of old blood. “Good lord, I’ve never-“

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” you quickly say. “I must have gotten used to it.”

“What in god’s name happened to it!?” he asks, eyes tearing up slightly.

You quickly try to think of something believable. “Uh, it belongs to a friend of mine. He’s, uh, a film student. He really likes making horror movies, and, uh… It’s fake blood.”

“Is fake blood supposed to smell so… rancid?” the man asks.

“Uh, well, by fake, I meant it’s not human,” you lie. “I think it’s pig’s blood. He got it from the local butcher or something. So the actors would act more freaked out, you know?”

The man frowns and nods. “Well, it definitely works.” He takes a deep breath before delving back into the bag and pulling out the leather to examine on the counter. “It’s certainly a fine quality leather,” he muses as he continues to pull out bunches of the material. He eventually pulls out a glove and pauses, staring at it curiously. “This is quite… large?” He looks back to you.

“Yep,” you say.

He clearly wants more detail, but when you don’t give any to him, he turns his attention back to the clothing. He pulls out the rest of the coat and spreads it out on the counter to examine it more closely. His fingers run over the caution labels stuck all over it in evident confusion. He then looks up at you again, almost angrily. “Is this thing held together with staples?”

“Uh, I-“

“Listen,” the man starts, reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I’m a leatherworker. Not a miracle worker. Fine leather or not, this thing is disgusting and barely thrown together. I’m afraid that I simply can’t-“

“Oh please, you have to salvage it!” you shout, causing him to jump at the unexpected outburst. “You don’t understand how important this coat is to me!”

“Why? I thought it was just a movie prop.”

You frown. “It’s a really good movie.” He shakes his head and opens his mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, you pull a wad of cash out of your pocket and slam it on the counter. “I’ll pay extra. Lots extra. Whatever it takes.”

The man stares at the money, then up at you, then sighs in defeat. “Well, since you seem so desperate… I suppose I could at least try to make something of this mess.”

You excitedly grab his hand and shake it overenthusiastically, smiling from ear to ear. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much! Really, you don’t know how much this means to me!”

“I would say not a problem, but then I would be lying,” the man says as he withdraws his hand from your grasp. He then turns to the register and begins to tap the keys. “Let’s see, a full-length coat cleaning, plus the gloves, the boots… And I’d be a lousy excuse for a leatherworker if I sent you home with a coat made of staples, so I’ll go ahead and remove those and get everything properly sewn together… So let’s put the total at an even $150.”

“Perfect. That’s perfect.” You count out $150 and hand it to the man, who then recounts it and places it in the register.

“When do you want to pick it up?” the man asks.

“Could you have it done in a few hours?” you ask.

He stares at you with a dead look. “You’re joking.”

You smile tentatively. “Well, I was gonna go run some errands, and then I was hoping to take it to the tailor and get it measured so I can-“

The man holds up a hand to silence you. He then turns his hand to face palm-up. “Another $50 and I can have it done by the time I close.”

“How about $75 and you have it done by five?”

“$100 to have it done by six.”

This man drives a hard bargain. Still, you’re hopelessly desperate. You sigh before slapping another $100 into his hand. He tucks the bills into the register before grabbing a blank slip and writing down your order details and pickup time. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says with a forced smile as he hands you the receipt.

“Thank you...” You take the receipt and turn to leave. “See you at six,” you shout as you walk out the front door, the little bell dinging behind you.

You stride down the sidewalk victoriously. That could have gone better, but it also could have gone much, much worse. You look down at the list of addresses in your hand. Next stop is the market. You plan to stock up on nonperishables like canned goods, cereals, and pastas for now. You’ll worry about purchasing fresh produce when you have more time and reliable transportation.

You pause when your eyes scan over a large “Help Wanted” sign in one of the shop windows. You look up to see a cute wooden sign above the shop that reads “Oliver & Sons Antiques”. You chuckle to yourself; fate really wants you to work with antiques, doesn’t it? Another bell chimes as you enter the shop. Immediately the familiar smell of old furniture hits you, drowning you in a wave of nostalgia. You approach the counter, where a middle-aged woman with strawberry blonde hair has her nose buried in a book. She doesn’t seem to realize you are standing there.

“Hello?” you say, and she startles and slams the book shut.

“I’m terribly sorry!” she says as she shoves the book somewhere behind the counter. “Business has been slow today and I just thought… Say, are you new in town? A tourist?”

Geez, does everybody have to know everybody in this town? “I just moved into town.”

“Oh! How quaint! How quaint.” the woman says in a shrill voice.

“Uh, I saw the sign in the window about the job opening,” you say as you point over your shoulder to the front of the shop.

“Oh, of course! Of course! Being new here, you’ll be looking for work. Of course!” The woman reaches behind the counter again and pulls out a packet of papers. “Here’s the job application form. Do you want to take it home or just fill it out right here?”

“Well, I’m waiting for some things, so I’m not in any hurry. I might as well just fill it out here.”

“Wonderful! Wonderful. Here’s a pen. My name is Emily, by the way.” She grabs a pen from a cup beside the register and hands it to you.

You start to fill out the form, starting with your basic information. “I used to own an antique shop before I moved here,” you say as you write. “So I think I would really like working in this environment.”

“Oh really?” Emily coos. “Where did you live before?”

“Uh… the city,” you say, hoping she’ll just assume you mean the one nearby.

“How funny!” she says with a wave of her hand. “My previous employee had to quit because he was moving to the city! And now here you are applying for his old job because you moved from the city! That’s funny! Isn’t that funny?”

The way this lady talks is exhausting you, but you nod your head and smile. “Yeah, it sure is.”

“So, I bet a nice young lady such as yourself has a nice family? You got any kids?”

You nearly choke on your own saliva. “N-no! I don’t… we don’t… I don’t have kids. God, no.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just assumed… You aren’t single, are you?”

You want to tell this lady to just mind her damn business, but you need the job. You finally settle on telling her, “It’s… complicated.”

“I see…” Emily says with curiosity. God, she’s probably a gossip. She really strikes you as a gossip. Maybe working here isn’t such a good idea after all.

“Here’s your form,” you say before she has a chance to say anything else.

She takes the packet from your hands and scans it over hungrily. "Ah, your address is the old cabin outside of town!"

"Yep," you say with a curt nod, nervous about having to hand out that information.

Emily's eyes widen further as she stares at the form. “Oh my god, your previous employment was in Raccoon City? As in, _the_ Raccoon City?”

“Yeah,” you reply.

“Does that mean you were there when… Did you see it happen? The zombies?”

“I, uh, evacuated pretty early on,” you lie. “I wanted to get out before things really went south, you know?”

“Oh, of course. Of course. Good survival instinct.” She nods approvingly.

“Listen, I’ve got some other errands to take care of, so I should probably get going,” you say.

“Yes! I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you are very busy having just moved here. Very busy. I’ll look over your application and give you a call if you’re hired, okay?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” You turn away and rush out the front door before she can ask any more uncomfortable questions.

As you walk in the direction of the supermarket, you find that you can’t stop fidgeting with your paper list. As much as you try to push Emily out of your mind, your stupid thoughts won’t stop repeating the same words over and over. _Do you have any kids?_ You recall your automatic reaction of spluttering on your own spit. You never really thought too much about whether you want kids. You figured you would think about it after finding the person you want to settle down with for the rest of your life. Well, now you’ve found the person you want to spend your life with, so logically kids are the next issue to consider.

The first question is whether he even wants kids. Does he even understand the concept of raising a child, or even the concept of kin? He himself didn’t have parents or a childhood, so the concept must be foreign to him. Though, considering how loving and protective he is of you, it isn’t out of the question that he would make a good father, right? But that brings about the second question: is he even able to father a child? You recall the compatibility tests that were run by Umbrella; they never told you the results. Assuming you _are_ compatible with each other, certainly the child couldn’t inherit a brain parasite, but what kind of genetically modified human DNA _would_ they inherit? Would they grow to be as massive as their father? Would they be infected with the T-virus? Would that give them regenerative properties? Would they lack any body hair? Would their face be deformed? Would their skin be tattered and discolored? In any of these cases, how could a child with obvious B.O.W. phenotypes fit into society? Would you even survive such a pregnancy?

You suddenly experience a rush of overwhelming panic. You two had unprotected sex twice over the last 24 hours, and it has been about two weeks since you last took the pill. How could you have been so stupid? You quickly try to reason with yourself to prevent breaking down in the middle of the shopping district. You’re due for your period, so you probably finished ovulating already. And he might not even be compatible with you in the first place! Surely, there’s nothing to worry about, right?

“Shit!” you hiss as you wrench your hand away from the paper. You absentmindedly gave yourself a papercut from all your fiddling. You stick the finger in your mouth to stop the bleeding. The supermarket is just a few stores down, and you pick up your pace, trying not to think about anything too hard.

The supermarket is relatively small for what it is, but you wouldn’t expect much more from a small town such as this one. It has all the necessities, so you can’t complain. You grab a shopping cart and begin to stroll up and down the aisles, grabbing nonperishables, toiletries, and a few containers of long-lasting fruits. You make sure to grab a box of snack bars for Nemesis and sentimentality. At one point your hand hovers over a bottle of vodka, but you quickly forget about it when you remember you don’t have an ID. Maybe some other time. You try to ignore the curious glances you keep getting from strangers as you shop. When the leatherworker told you this was a close-knit community, he must have really meant it. You have a feeling it won’t be long before everyone in this town knows your name and where you live, especially if Emily is the gossip you suspect her to be.

After perusing the entire store, which doesn’t take terribly long at all, you start to unload the contents of the cart onto the checkout counter. A peppy young girl in a store uniform and a ponytail stands behind the register. Her nametag informs you that her name is Kayla. “Good afternoon! Did you find everything okay?” she asks as she starts to ring up your selections and place them in plastic bags.

“Yes,” you say, not paying her much mind.

“I’ve never seen you around before,” she says with a smile.

You sigh. “Just moved in.”

“How exciting! What do you think of the town so far?” She continues to ring up and bag the items as you finally empty the last of the cart’s contents.

“It’s nice.” You stare at the receipt as it elongates with each product purchased.

“Oh!” Kayla suddenly squeals. “Oh my god! What are you hoping for?”

You turn to look at her. She looks extremely excited. “Huh?”

“What are you hoping for?” To your horror, she holds up a tiny cardboard package. It’s a pregnancy test.

“A negative,” you growl.

“O-oh.” The huge smile on her face instantly falls, her cheeks turning red. “I… I’m sorry. I thought-“

“Just finish ringing up my stuff so I can leave, please. I have places to be.” You’re never this curt with people, but you’re starting to get extremely sick of strangers prying into your private business.

Kayla quickly finishes ringing up your items, takes your money, and returns your change without daring to speak another word. You thread one arm through your grocery bags and turn on your heel to get the hell out of this awkward situation. “H-have a nice day!” Kayla nervously calls after you. You just walk faster.

Once outside, you glance back at your list. Next is clothes shopping. With a sigh, you turn and head in the direction of the nearest clothing store. It occurs to you that maybe you should have gone clothes shopping before visiting the market. That way you could try on some outfits to make sure they fit without having to worry about lugging around an armful of grocery bags. You suppose you can just buy the clothes you like and return the ones that don’t fit later, although it will be more hassle.

Clothes shopping is, thankfully, relatively uneventful. There are less people in this store to stare at you, and you can easily hide behind the racks of clothes. You pick out just enough outfits to last you a week, as well as some underclothes, a bag, a coat, and a new pair of boots. As you walk through the back end of the store to make sure you didn’t miss anything good, your eye catches on a rack of cute lingerie. You used to have a few of such articles at your apartment in Raccoon City, just a couple fancy bras and panties, but you hadn’t worn them in years. You hadn’t been in a relationship in years, so there was no need to impress anybody. You reach out a hand and mindlessly skim through the rack to see if there is anything particularly appealing to you. Your hand stops at a beautiful two-piece set in your favorite color, and you start to take it off the rack.

No, wait, this is silly. Someone like Nemesis couldn’t possibly be interested in you wearing something like this, right? He probably doesn’t even know what lingerie is in the first place. You start to move your hand away from the hanger. But what if he does like it? He’s still exploring his sexuality just as much as you are. You recently learned that you like to be dominated, and he recently learned that he likes hickeys. You wouldn’t have learned those things without some experimentation. How are you supposed to know if he likes seeing you in lingerie if you don’t try it?

Fuck it, you’re buying the lingerie.

You bring your haul to the front counter to check out, hoping that this cashier will be less nosy. Standing behind the counter is a woman about your age with short bleach-blonde hair. “Find everything you were looking for?” she asks upon seeing the huge pile of clothes.

“Yeah,” you say. Thankfully, she doesn’t ask you if you’re new around here. She just starts scanning the price tags, occasionally commenting on how cute a particular article of clothing is. She especially likes the boots you picked out, which you are admittedly proud of. You could confidently say that you have a good taste in fashion at the end of the day.

She pauses when she gets to the lingerie, and you hold your breath. “This is cute,” she says as she scans it and places it in the bag. Much to your surprise, that’s all she has to say on the matter. Finally, someone in this town who isn’t a complete busybody. You pay for your purchase and accept your change with a quiet thank you before taking the large bag of clothes in your free hand.

“Do you happen to have the time?” you ask.

The woman looks at her watch. “5:50.”

You nod and thank her again, then leave the shop. Your arms are starting to ache from carrying all these bags, but you still have two more things to accomplish before you can go home. It’s almost six, so you need to head to the leatherworker to pick up the clothes you dropped off. Then you need to take them a little further down the street to the tailor. Your stomach growls, and you realize you haven’t eaten since yesterday. Still, eating will just have to wait.

It takes about fifteen minutes for you to backtrack to the leatherworker, which puts you just past your six o’ clock pickup time. The door jingles again as you reenter the shop. The man with the puffy mustache is hunched over behind the counter watching the door expectantly, but he stands up straight when you enter. “Ah, yes, Miss... Your order is ready for pickup.”

“I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” you say as you reach the counter. “I know it was a mess.”

“Well, the cleaning was quite the hassle, yes, but I found myself quite enthralled by the repair aspect of this project.” He turns away to retrieve the gloves and boots, then places them on the counter in front of you. He then turns away again to retrieve the coat, which has been neatly folded up into a large bundle. “I suspect that you will be happy with the results.”

You take the folded coat from him to examine. As promised, the blood and its accompanying scent have been completely removed. He also took the time to remove the caution labels and the huge metal staples. Most impressively, he managed to neatly sew together the complex upper portion of the coat into something coherent. You press your nose into the material and take a deep breath. The familiar smoky smell is gone, but it still smells just as earthy and sweet. You smile gratefully up at him. “It’s like a whole new coat.”

“I’m really quite interested in the story behind it,” he says, and your smile falters. “It’s clearly a custom piece. Very industrial yet somewhat avant-garde. And the sheer size and proportions of it, why, you’d have to be seven or eight feet tall just to wear it comfortably. You said it was for a student horror film?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “The character it was for had to wear stilts. He was, uh, the _monster_.” The last word burns like poison as it rolls off your tongue. Your mate is not, nor will he ever be, a monster. A bioweapon, maybe, but a monster, absolutely not.

“Do you mind me asking why it holds such importance to you?” he asks.

“I’m quite close to the person who played the role,” you say, keeping a straight face. “The coat was a gift from him after filming was done.”

“Hm. You’d think he would have had it cleaned before gifting it to someone,” the man says with a shake of the head. “I’ve never smelled something so horrible in my life. Smelled like death.”

“He’s, uh, a bit eccentric,” you say. You carefully stuff the coat into the bag you left on the counter, followed by the gloves and the boots. You zip up the bag and prepare to leave.

“Oh, my, what happened?” the man suddenly asks.

“What?” you ask.

He points to your hand, then quickly turns away. “My apologies, it’s none of my business.”

You raise your hand and realize he was pointing at your missing pinky. “Oh, uh, it was just a recent accident. It’s not a big deal. Oh, accept apparently your pinky contributes 50% of your grip strength. That part kind of sucks.” You wonder why your brain managed to retain that factoid in the midst of being tortured.

“Ah, well, I’m sorry that happened,” the man says, clearly a bit put off. “Enjoy your coat. If you ever need any other leatherwork done, my shop will be right here. My name is Edward, by the way.”

You nod and smile before throwing the bag of leather over your shoulder. “Of course, thanks a lot.” With that, you turn to leave the store. You can feel Edward’s curious eyes drilling holes through you the entire way out.

The sun is starting to set, so you quicken your pace on the way to the tailor down the street. Several people are still out and about enjoying the nice autumn weather, and many of them cast strange glances at you. Whether it is because you are new in town, or because you are carrying a metric ton of bags, you aren’t sure.

You step into the tailor’s shop, struggling to fit through the door with your growing collection of purchases. A bell sounds somewhere in the back of the shop upon opening the door. “I’ll be out in a moment!” a woman calls from a separate room in the back.

You step over to the main counter and set all your bags down to give your sore arms a break. Looking around, you see shelves stacked with various materials and fabrics of every color imaginable. A few scattered mannequins display examples of custom designs. Everything looks clean, organized, and stylish. On the counter sits a binder labelled “design catalog”. You open it and start to flip through the pages, which feature more types of clothes than you even knew existed. You hear footsteps and look up to see an older woman entering from the back room.

“Sorry about that! You caught me in the middle of sewing up an order.” She steps behind the counter. “How may I help… Say, you’re not a familiar face.”

You frown, wondering how many more times you are going to have to have this same conversation. “I just moved into town.”

“A pleasure to meet you then. My name’s Marge.” She smiles and holds out a hand, which you shake. She then eyes the many bags that sit at your feet. “Those aren’t all clothes you need altered, are they?”

“Oh, no,” you say. “I’ve just been doing a bit of shopping.”

“Ah, I see. Well, what can I help you with, then?”

“I was hoping to order some custom clothes.”

“Well I see you’ve already found my catalog,” Marge says, nodding to the binder still held in your hands. “It’s full of my own designs. With the right measurements, I can make anything in there for you.”

“Do you mind if I take a moment to browse?” you ask.

“Take your time, sweetheart.”

You smile and nod before turning your attention back to the catalog. The women’s designs are all very fashionable, and you are tempted to order something for yourself, but you know you already purchased enough clothes for now. You instead flip ahead to the men’s section and begin taking mental notes of all the different styles of clothes. Trying to imagine Nemesis wearing anything in the catalog is surprisingly difficult. Putting normal clothes on him just doesn’t feel natural.

Marge must notice your contemplative look, because she peeks over to see what you are looking at. “Oh, the men’s section. Are you buying for a special someone?”

Ugh, another meddler. “You could say that, sure.”

She smiles. “Is there anything in particular you’re looking to get him? I’d love to make some recommendations. I can tell you what our most popular designs are as well.”

“Actually,” you start, “I’m looking to build an entire wardrobe.”

“Oh, my, an entire custom wardrobe! He must be someone really special.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “You have no idea.”

“Well, if you’re building from the ground up, I’d recommend starting with the essentials. Some dress shirts, some casual shirts, at least one sweater, a couple slacks, a pair of jeans, perhaps a pair of shorts. We also offer more specifically purposed clothing such as suits, coats, and robes.”

“Uh, sure, that sounds good.”

“Which part?”

“…All of it?”

Marge gapes at you, dollar signs practically flashing in her eyes. “A-all of it?”

You nod. “Sure. If you can make everything in darker, neutral colors, that would be preferable. Bright colors don’t really match his complexion. Do you make undergarments as well? Like boxer briefs?”

Marge gives you a quizzical look. “Custom designers don’t typically focus on such items, no. Most people just get those from retail outlets.”

You tap your fingers against the binder nervously. “Yes, well, the problem is that none of the retail stuff, uh, fits.”

Now Marge simply looks intrigued. “Doesn’t fit? How… Uh, do you have his measurements?”

“Well, I haven’t measured him, no… I, uh, was kind of hoping to keep it a surprise? I brought a custom-made coat that fits him perfectly. I was hoping you could use that for reference.”

Marge rubs her chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible. May I see the coat?” You place the binder back on the counter and bend down to retrieve the coat from the zipped bag. You hand the folded leather to Marge, who takes it carefully. “It’s quite heavy,” she comments as she unfolds the coat. As expected, the bottom of the coat bunches up on the ground due to its massive size. She stares at it in disbelief. “Good lord, this is-“

“I know, I know. It’s gigantic,” you deadpan. “Now you can see why he needs an entirely custom wardrobe.”

She looks at you with wide eyes. “How tall is he?”

“Uh… eight… feet…?”

Marge wheezes, and you swear she looks like she’s about to have a heart attack. “Never in my life…” she mutters to herself as she holds onto the counter for support.

“So, uh, can you do it?” you ask nervously.

“Huh?” Marge looks at you as if she forgot you were there.

“Can you measure the coat and make the custom wardrobe?”

“Yes!” she exclaims, almost too excitedly. “Yes, of course! I can even do the boxer briefs. Good lord, I’ve never had such a complex order… such a strange order…” She tries her best to gather the huge coat in her arms to prevent it from dragging across the ground. “Let me just take this in the back and get some measurements, and then I’ll give you an estimate, alright dear?”

“Take your time,” you say as she disappears into the back of the shop. You stand there silently for the next fifteen or so minutes, skimming through the binder of custom designs some more. The more you look at them, the more you struggle to visualize Nemesis wearing any of it. You suppose the trench coat might look nice on him. And the idea of him wearing a fancy suit has you intrigued. But t-shirts? Jeans? Shorts? That just seems bizarre.

On another note, you would say you are satisfied with Marge’s reaction so far. She hasn’t asked too many unnecessary questions, and she is more than willing to fulfill your request. From the look she gave you when you told her you wanted a little of everything, you have a feeling this is going to burn through most of the money left on your person, yet you can’t bring yourself to mind it. It always felt like a burdensome sacrifice to buy gifts in your previous relationships. This time you are actually excited. Perhaps it is knowing that he has never received a gift before (aside from that snack bar you gave him long ago, and maybe that rocket launcher from Jill that you have hidden in the closet) that leads you to be so eager and willing to spend all this money on him. He’s never had any possessions to his name (besides the rocket launcher and the leather), and damn it, he deserves better than that.

When you grow bored of looking through the catalog, you instead turn your attention to a local newspaper sitting on the corner of the counter. You skim over it just to read the headlines. There’s an article about the president’s plans for resignation, no surprise there. Another article mentions plans to build a new elementary school to teach the influx of kids open enrolling from the city. You skim over the classifieds, sports, and comics until your eyes come to rest on a more interesting headline about recent student killings around the city’s university. You frown, reminded of how much evil still exists in the world.

Marge finally emerges from the back room with the coat and a notebook, and you return the newspaper to the counter. “Alright, sweetie, I got the measurements. Here’s your coat back.” She hands you the coat over the counter and you refold it to place it back in the bag. “I went ahead and ran some numbers. Everything will be dark, neutral colors, except the robe, because the material I use for that only comes in white. These measurements are going to require more material than usual, and I need to make the patterns for the briefs, so that brings up the price.” She turns the notebook toward you and points to a number circled at the bottom of the page underneath a long list of calculations. “How does this price look?”

An inhuman sound escapes your throat. “That’s… wow. Wow.”

Marge smiles shyly. “A custom wardrobe isn’t cheap, especially for someone who’s measurements are so… demanding.”

You take a deep breath as you reach for your money. “It’s fine. I’d like to go through with the order, please.”

Marge looks at you with surprise, as if she had expected you to change your mind. “Oh, I… wonderful! That’s wonderful!” You count out your money and, sure enough, this purchase is going to run you dry. All you have left over is a couple tens even though you anticipated that your money would last you at least a few months. You’ll have to make a bank run before you go out shopping any more. “Oh, you’re paying in cash?” Marge asks as she takes the huge stack of bills. “For such a large order? Are you sure?”

“I lost all my checks and cards in an accident,” you explain. “Cash is all I got right now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Cash is fine, then.” She recounts the cash, then places it in a locked money box. She then grabs a blank receipt and fills it out with the details of your order. “This is a pretty big order, so it won’t be ready for a few weeks. Is there a number I can call you at to let you know when to come pick it up?”

“Sure thing,” you say as you jot down the cabin’s phone number on a piece of paper that she handed you. You exchange the phone number for your receipt. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate you doing this. I know it’s an unusual order.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem!” Marge insists. “Honestly, I’m just kind of amazed by this whole thing. Eight feet... He is a very lucky man to have you.”

You snort as you stoop down to retrieve your bags. “Nah, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

“Well no matter who’s lucky, I’m sure he will appreciate you doing this for him. What’s his name, by the way?”

“Uh…” You can’t tell her his name is Nemesis. That’s not a normal human name. Panicking, you say the first alternative that comes to mind. “Nemmy. His name is Nemmy.” Holy shit, if that isn’t the stupidest thing you have ever come up with, then you don’t know what is.

Marge raises an eyebrow. “That’s… an unusual name.”

“It’s Scandinavian,” you blurt out. What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

“Huh. Well, I guess that makes sense. Aren’t people tall in Scandinavia?”

You shrug, desperate to get away from this idiotic exchange. “I don’t know. Look, it’s getting pretty late, and I need to be getting back home.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you. I’ll get to work on your order and call you when it’s ready to pick up. You have a nice evening, you hear?”

“Thanks, you too,” you say with an anxious smile before turning away and heading out the door.

Your arms still hurt from carrying all these bags all day. Your feet hurt from walking back and forth across town all day. Your head hurts from maintaining vague conversations with invasive busybodies all day. Your stomach hurts from not eating all day. Your wallet hurts from spending several hundreds of dollars in just a few hours. Your heart hurts from still not knowing what was bothering your mate this morning. Your everything hurts at the very inconvenient certainty that Umbrella will try to find you. You’ve had a lot of bad days over the past few weeks, and while some of them have been exponentially worse, this one definitely makes the list.


	3. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone complimented my Umbrella Corporation face mask at the grocery store today and I have fucking ASCENDED. Grocery store lady, if you're out there, you have good taste in video games and I love you.

_Thursday, October 15, 1998_

Nemesis is very happy to see you when you return home from your long day of errands in the town. You shower each other with loving touches for a little while, then he watches you with intrigue while you unload all the bags you brought home. The first thing you grab is his leather outfit, which you hand to him with a smile. He seems impressed by the renewed state it is in and quickly puts on the coat, not bothering with the gloves or the boots for now as they are ultimately unnecessary. Damn, he looks so hot in that coat. You quickly look away before either of you get any naughty ideas. You are already kicking yourself for being irresponsible with him. Pill first, sex later.

You stock the pantry shelves with food and throw the fruit into the fridge, pondering what to cook for dinner with your limited supply. You then grab the laundry detergent and your huge pile of new clothes to throw in the wash. Thankfully the cabin came with its own washer and dryer set, so you won’t have to bother dealing with the laundromat. After starting a load of darks, you return to the kitchen to start cooking, eventually settling on the cheap staple of spaghetti with jarred marinara sauce.

Making spaghetti is not a complicated process, but Nemesis hovers over your shoulder and watches like you are performing an alchemic spell. As you stand there and stir the sauce heating in a saucepan on the stovetop, you feel his large hands wrap around your waist and his face nuzzle into your hair to breathe in your scent. You smile and sigh happily at his affectionate behavior; whatever was bothering him this morning, he seems to have forgotten about it by now.

Once the spaghetti is finished cooking, you combine the noodles with the sauce and fork some onto a plate. You glance at Nemesis curiously; would he be interested in eating anything? Does he even need to eat? Surely, creating a non-photosynthetic organism that consumes energy without the need to eat would be impossible, even for Umbrella. You shrug and fork some more spaghetti onto a second plate, figuring that offering it to him won’t hurt anybody. You fill up two glasses of water and get to work setting the table.

You take a seat at one end of the table and prepare to tuck into your first meal all day, but you notice Nemesis simply standing aimlessly in the kitchen. You gesture to the plate and the seat across the table. “Take a seat and try it. It’s called spaghetti.”

Nemesis approaches the table and sits down in the wooden chair, which looks hilariously small underneath his massive form. He hunches over the table and stares curiously at the plate of spaghetti, then glances back up at you. You have a fork in one hand, twirling noodles around the utensil and transferring the food into your mouth. You watch him brightly, wondering how he will approach this novel situation. He pokes at the fork beside his own plate with a contemplative look. Suddenly he picks up the plate and raises it above him, tilting it so that the entire serving of noodles slides into his gaping maw. He returns the plate to the table with a clatter as he swallows the meal whole.

You nearly choke on your mouthful of spaghetti with laughter. “Not much for table manners, huh?” you say after managing to swallow your food. “Did you like it, though? Do you want more?” You smile when he picks up the plate and holds it out to you expectantly. “Oh, good! I’ll get you seconds.”

Five plates of spaghetti later, you are certain that he is going to eat you out of house and home. It looks like you will have to go grocery shopping again sooner than you thought.

Your next challenge is the simple endeavor of getting Nemesis to brush his teeth, but not for the reasons you expected. You grab the bag of toiletries you picked up at the market and lead him by the hand into the bathroom and over to the sink. After ripping two toothbrushes out of their packages and removing the seal on the toothpaste, you turn to him to hand him one of the brushes. Your heart sinks when you see him once again staring with that unreadable trance-like expression from this morning, paying no attention to you. You try once more to follow his gaze, but you still fail to notice anything that would warrant such a reaction.

"Hey, are you-"

Suddenly, Nemesis reels back and throws his fist hard against the wall, shattering the mirror above the sink into thousands of tiny glass shards. You shriek and fall backwards onto the floor in surprise at the violent outburst. You watch as Nemesis glares down at his bloodied knuckles with a look of utter contempt.

“W-why did you do that!?” you exclaim, but rather than coming out angry, it comes out fearful.

Nemesis turns around to look at you with an expression not dissimilar to the one he gave you when you got shot in the stomach and were bleeding out in his arms. Your heart wrenches in your chest at the sight. You slowly get to your feet and approach him, careful not to step on any glass fragments. You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his coat, and you can feel him tense up beneath your touch.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “It was just a mirror. We didn’t need it anyway. Let’s just go to bed.”

It takes a lot of coercing, but you finally manage to convince Nemesis to leave the bathroom and follow you to the bedroom. The entire time he remains completely silent and keeps his distance from you, and you want to cry. Why is he avoiding you? Why did he get so tense when you hugged him? What are you doing wrong? Does he not love you anymore?

You try to shake the thought from your head. You and Nemesis are mates, surely he wouldn’t stop loving you just like that. You have been through so much together. You have cried for each other, fought for each other, made love to each other. Does none of that mean anything?

Once in the bedroom, you remember that your sleep clothes are still in the wash, so you simply strip down to your bra and underwear before climbing under the covers of the king-sized bed. Doing your best to look confident, you pat the empty space beside you with a smile. Nemesis hesitates at first, staring at the empty space with an unreadable expression. It isn’t until you pat the bed several more times with growing desperation that he caves. He undoes his coat and lets it slide off his shoulders to land in a heap on the bedroom floor. He then throws back the covers and crams his naked self onto the mattress. He lays on his side facing you and practically has to fold himself into the fetal position in order to fit, considering that he is eight feet long and the bedframe isn’t even seven.

“We’re gonna need a bigger bed,” you say jokingly. He doesn’t respond, and you realize he is trying not to look at you. With a sad sigh, you pull the covers back over his body and then settle underneath the covers yourself. He doesn’t move or make any sound as you snuggle up against him and rest a hand against his chest. You look at his face, but he still won’t make eye contact with you. You lean toward him and kiss his chin.

“Nemesis,” you whisper. His eye twitches slightly, but he manages to keep his gaze away. “Nemesis,” you repeat, sorrow rising in your voice, but still to no effect. You sniff as you struggle to hold back a few tears that threaten to breach your tear ducts. “Nemesis, please look at me.” The pain in your voice finally gets through to him, and he looks down at you with his blank white eye. The dead look on his face causes you to finally break, letting out a quiet sob as tears begin to flow. “I’m sorry,” you wail. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I did to make you upset, but it wasn’t my intention at all. I would never try to upset you. I just love you so fucking much, and it kills me to see you hurting like this because of something that I don’t understand. I wish so, so much that you could just tell me what’s wrong. I just want to make you happy and be a good mate and spend the rest of my life with you, and I’m so fucking sorry that I’m failing already.”

The dead look on his face instantly turns to one of panic. He reaches an arm under the covers and wraps it around you to pull you up against his warm body. He cradles the back of your head with his hand and gently runs his fingers through your hair.

“Love.” Being pressed against him, you can clearly feel the vibration of his deep voice rumbling in his chest. He then purrs at you in a keening manner.

You cry into his chest and wrap your arm around him. You feel so stupid, so selfish. Here he is hurting, and you just turned around and made him comfort _you_. But at the same time, he just told you that he still loves you. A wave of relief washes over you, and you try your best to calm down a little. You recall the look of panic in his eye at your outburst, like he hadn’t intended for you to apologize at all. Maybe he isn’t upset over something you did after all? But if it isn’t you that is making him upset, then what is? And why is it causing him to act so distant and avoidant of you? He continues to purr comfortingly at you until your crying dies down to nothing again. He huffs out a heavy breath, as if relieved.

“I love you,” you whisper, and he holds you closer with a quiet rumble. Exhausted from your long day and your emotional outburst, you drift to sleep, his voice lovingly murmuring one last word into your ear.

“ _Mate_.”

_Friday, October 16, 1998_

Things are seemingly back to normal by the next day. You and Nemesis wake up in each other’s arms and proceed to cuddle and kiss each other for a good portion of the morning. Part of you wants to bring up the events from last night, but you decide not to. He is in a better mood and the last thing you need to do is ruin that by bringing up a sore subject.

You are finally forced to get out of bed when the phone rings from the living room. You disentangle yourself from your mate and slide out of bed, earning you a disappointed grumble. Naked aside from your bra and underwear, you stride into the living room and pick up the phone. “Hello?” you say.

“Uh, hi, is this (y/n)?” a male voice says from the other end of the line.

“Depends,” you say. “Who is this?”

“Name’s Jason Valentine. I’m Jill’s cousin, the one who owns the cabin.”

“Oh! Hello! I was wondering when I would be hearing from you.”

“Yeah, Jill let me know that you and your boyfriend would be staying there since you don’t have no place else to go. I went ahead and got the water and electricity running again for you, but I'm sure you've figured that out by now. I would’ve called sooner, but Jill said you’d be in the hospital for a bit and that your boyfriend’s mute or something.”

Your heart flutters. Did Jill really call Nemesis your boyfriend? “Uh, yeah. Look, we really appreciate you letting us stay here for a little while. We promise we’ll get out of your hair as soon as we find someplace else to live.”

“Actually, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling,” Jason says. “Jill said you’d be looking for a place to settle down permanently, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in buying the cabin, fully furnished.”

“What?” you ask. “You sure you’re selling?”

“Yeah, me and the wife haven’t been up to Oregon in years. It’s literally just a money sink at this point. I’d be glad to have it off my hands, especially since you sound like you need it. I don’t got kids of my own, but that area’s a great place to raise a family.”

“O-oh, uh, yeah, that’s, uh, nice,” you stammer. “We’d, um, certainly be interested in buying. What’s the asking price?”

“Well, I talked to my wife about it, and we were thinking one fifty.”

“Are you serious?” you say. “That’s a steal for a property like this. You could get a way better price if you put it on the market.”

“Maybe so, but it’s a property that only niche buyers would be interested in. It’d just be easier to sell it to someone who’s already interested. Besides, Jill put in a good word for you two, said you both saved her skin a few times. Described you as ‘soulmates’ too. I’ve got a soft heart for that kind of thing and I want to help out, especially since you’re a friend of my family.”

You’re thankful Jason can’t see you blushing over the phone. Soulmates? Really Jill? “That’s very kind of you. Really, it is. Things are kind of crazy right now so it might take me some time to apply for a mortgage and get a down payment ready, but if you’re willing to work with that then we’d love to buy.”

“That’s completely fine. Jill said you lost everything in the RC Incident, so I completely understand you needing some time.”

“I can pay you rent until then,” you offer.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Jason says. “You just lost everything, take it easy for a little while. I’ll give you my number so we can keep in touch. Oh, and Jill wanted me to give you a number you could reach her at too.” You quickly find a pen and notepad in a desk drawer and jot down the numbers that Jason rattles off.

“Thank you so much,” you say. “We’ve had to deal with so many assholes over the last few weeks, we almost forgot there are still decent people in this world.”

“Hey, anything to help a budding young family. You tell your future husband I sent my best wishes.”

You’re going to kill Jill. “Uh, um, thanks, I’ll let him know. Bye.” You quickly hang up the phone and scurry down the hall into the bedroom. Nemesis is sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep out of his eye. He turns to look at you as you enter. “That was Jill’s cousin Jason on the phone!” you say. “Guess what? He says he wants to sell us the cabin!” Unable to contain your building excitement, you rush over and jump into his arms. Sensing your enthusiasm, he gives you an approving growl as he embraces you. “Do you know what this means? We can settle down here! We can live here together, and we can plan our future together, and we can… can…” Can what? _Raise a family together_?

God, you really need to get this under control.

As much as you don't want to keep putting your name on record, you don't have much of a choice. That afternoon you break out the phone book again and start calling around to set up an appointment with a primary care doctor. You need another birth control prescription and you need it _now_. Thankfully there is a general practitioner in town that can see you as soon as this upcoming Monday. You eagerly make the appointment so you can just stop worrying already.

_Saturday, October 17, 1998_

Over the weekend you quickly discover that Nemesis has no idea how to settle into a domestic life. He spends nearly every waking hour following you around the house like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do with himself. When you aren’t home, he simply sits unmoving on the sofa and waits for you to get back. You are literally his entire existence, and while that does make you feel nice, you know it isn’t healthy. You try to give him a book to read, but you quickly discover that he does not know how. Figures that Umbrella wouldn't bother with such things. You make a mental note to stop by the town library and get a library card so you can check out some beginner books to teach him with.

Being as bored as he is, it doesn’t take Nemesis long to start making advances. He’ll touch you just right and growl seductively, and it takes all your mental strength to not break down and let him fuck you right then and there. You’re sure that after the first few times you divert his attention to something else, he’ll just decide to take you by force. The idea thrills you, but alas, he exhibits more self-restraint than you anticipated. You consider just exchanging oral, but remembering how the last time ended up, you doubt either of you will be able to contain yourselves. You kick yourself for not picking up a box of extra-large condoms while you were out on the town, although you would hate to give the townies more gossip fuel. By the end of the weekend, you feel like you’re going to lose your mind, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to lose his mind too, especially since you are too flustered to tell him the reason for your spontaneous celibacy.

Although you hate to leave him to his own devices, you try to get out of the house as much as you can to escape the sexual tension. You take advantage of your time out to take care of official business. Over the course of the weekend you submit a request for a replacement birth certificate with expedited delivery. Once you have that you’ll be able to get a replacement driver’s license, and with that you’ll be able to buy a car. You also submit an order for an Alaskan king-sized mattress and bed frame because sleeping hunched over every night can’t possibly be comfortable. Finally, you stop by the grocery store again with the new knowledge of Nemesis’ massive appetite. As you walk through the town, you notice strangers giving you strange glances and whispering to each other, and you wonder what kind of strange rumors have been going around about the nine-fingered woman up in the cabin who survived the apocalypse with the eight-foot-tall boyfriend.

_Monday, October 19, 1998_

You go to your doctor’s appointment on Monday and she immediately starts bombarding you with questions. Apparently, she received your medical records from the city hospital, so she is well aware of your recent injuries. You are quick to assure her that no, your surgery scar does not hurt, and yes, you have been taking your PTSD medication. She is happy to see that you have put on some weight since your admission to the hospital several weeks ago. Everything seems to be normal, from your temperature to your blood pressure. Aside from some scars, a missing finger, and serious mental trauma, you are perfectly healthy. All this works in your favor, and she gladly prescribes you a birth control without any problems. She tells you to refrain from unsafe sex for at least seven days after starting the pill, after which it will become effective. A bit too late for that, but you thank her anyway and leave to go pick up the prescription at the pharmacy. While there, you give in and pick up that box of condoms, town gossip be damned. There’s no way you two will last another seven days.

Nemesis isn’t sure what to think of the condoms at first. You explain that his cum could make you sick until you get your medication back in your system, and that helps to open him up to the idea. Still, he seems a bit apprehensive, but that apprehension quickly fades as soon as you get started making love again. Both of you decide that the best way to release all that pent-up sexual frustration from the weekend is to have a nice long round of rough, dominating sex, and damn is it good.

_Tuesday, October 20, 1998_

On Tuesday you get another phone call, this time from Emily at Oliver & Son’s Antiques. She happily informs you that you got the job and can start working next week. You thank her and tell her you’ll be there before hanging up. Part of you is excited to get started working with antiques again and bring in some income. Another part of you is nervous about Emily continuing to pry into your personal life, this time without a way for you to excuse yourself. Yet another part of you is disappointed that you won’t be able to spend so much time at home anymore. Being with Nemesis is a near-constant joy, and you hate to imagine him spending every day simply waiting for you to return from work and resume your affections.

_Saturday, October 24, 1998_

The end of the week arrives, and you feel a nervous pang in your gut. It has now been seven weeks since your last period, and you find yourself sitting in the bathroom with that dreaded pregnancy test in your hands. You’ve never had to do this before, so you carefully read over and follow the instructions on the box, then set the test on the countertop and wait for it to process. You sit on the closed toilet lid rubbing your face with your hands and trying to keep steady breaths. There are only two ways this can go, and you need to prepare yourself for both of them. Possibility one, the test is negative. You can breathe a sigh of relief and forget this slip-up ever happened. You are already well-prepared for this possibility. Possibility two, the test is positive. This is the possibility you still need to prepare yourself for, and unfortunately, you only have five minutes to do so.

The first person you will have to deal with is yourself. You will have to reassure yourself that everything is going to be fine, even though you have no way of knowing that. You’ll make a good mother. You’ll survive the pregnancy. Raising the child will bring you and your mate closer together and ultimately be a rewarding experience. But deep down, you know you aren't ready for something like this.

The second person you will have to deal with is Nemesis. He doesn't know the first thing about children or parents, and that will inevitably cause some problems. You’ll have to explain to him that you are going to have a child, his child, a little piece of him that will show the whole world your love for each other. You’ll have to explain to him that it won’t be easy. Your relationship won’t just be about the two of you anymore. There will be a third person involved, a fragile and helpless tiny person who will need the two of you to be nurturers, protectors, mentors, guardians.

The third and fourth people you will have to deal with are your parents. In a perfect world, they would never find out that Nemesis exists. It would be too hard for them, too hard for Nemesis, too hard for you. But if you are going to bear his offspring, they’ll have to find out eventually. You have no idea how they will take it that their daughter is reproducing with someone who they will inevitably label as a hideous monster. Will they excommunicate you from their lives, as if you never existed? Or will they accept your lover and your child? Even if they do, will they be disgusted? Or worse, will they be heartbroken?

The fifth, and perhaps most important, person that you will have to deal with is the child. You will be bringing a life into the world, a real person, a soul. Their life will not be normal, and therefore it will not be easy. They will grow up in a world of secrecy and lies, a world where their father cannot exist. They may themselves grow to be someone strange and unnatural, a product of genetic engineering that would have never graced the world through natural means. Will they have to hide themselves away from the world? Or will they be able to pass as human, albeit a little eccentric? Worst of all, will they grow to resent you for bringing them into this cruel, judgmental, unaccepting world in the first place? What will be the consequences of your actions? Will your child hurt someone without meaning to, unable to control their own genetic strength? Will they hurt someone with intention, falling down the dark path of violence that the creators of their genes intended? _Will Umbrella find out about this and come breaking down your door to take back what they consider to be property that is rightfully theirs_?

You look at the clock on the wall. It has been five minutes. You close your eyes and take one last deep breath. No matter what happens, you will have to accept it. No matter what happens, you will have to face the consequences. You reach over and pick up the test, then force yourself to look at it. You stare down at the tiny contraption in your hand, your heart skipping a beat at the result.

It’s a negative.


	4. Consequence

_Monday, October 26, 1998_

As November nears, you feel a crisp chill begin to permeate the air every time you go out, and you are going out a lot more often now that you have started working at your new job. Working at the antique shop is relatively straightforward, but you can’t help but notice an odd trend amongst the customers. A surprising number of people stop in each day without buying anything. They simply enter, look around halfheartedly for a few seconds to look natural, and then make a hilariously obvious beeline toward the counter to say hi to you. You’ve been introduced to so many people over just a few days that there is no way you will remember any of them. But that doesn’t matter to them, as long as they get to see you.

Most of them are polite, asking if you’re (y/n), the new lady who moved into the cabin on the mountain. It amazes you how quickly word got out of your presence, and you have no doubt in your mind that it was your new boss Emily who started the blabbing. Still, you wonder why these people find you so interesting. Surely, they don’t treat every new neighbor with this much enthusiasm. You start to get a better idea of what is going on when you notice how many of the customers are staring at your hands. Edward must have blabbed too. You figure this must be a pretty boring town if the citizens get this excited over someone missing a finger. Most of them are satisfied just to see that you really are missing a finger, but a few of them ask how it happened. Part of you is tempted to make up some crazy story about getting mauled by a bear or something, but the last thing you want to do is start more stupid rumors, so you simply explain that you had an accident and you don’t really want to discuss it further than that. Most people are okay with that answer. A few of them look visibly angry, as if they have some unspoken right to know your life history. One dares to ask if it got bitten off by a zombie. You assure him that no, you did not get bitten by a zombie, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t look convinced.

Emily, of course, continues to root around for gossip material. She asks you about your tall Scandinavian boyfriend whose name she can’t remember. Looks like Marge blabbed too. You ask Emily how she knows you have a boyfriend. She says a little bird told her and that she also heard that he’s a film student. Word gets around so fast in this town that it almost makes you sick. Maybe settling down here isn’t such a great idea after all. You make a mental note to keep your stories straight, lest you contradict yourself and raise suspicion.

_Wednesday, October 28, 1998_

On Wednesday you receive your replacement birth certificate in the mail. The next day after work you make a quick trip to the city to get a replacement driver’s license, which you then take to the nearest car dealership. It has been a pain in the ass to take public transportation to work every day, and you are about to put an end to it. You settle on buying a used sedan, one that is older and a bit sore on the eyes, but affordable. It’s not like you need to impress anybody, so you don’t really care how beat up the thing is as long as it works reliably.

As the week progresses the abnormal amount of traffic in the antique shop starts to die down, much to your relief. You aren’t nearly as self-conscious of your missing finger as you are of your burn scars hidden under your clothes, but it still makes you feel bad having people staring at your hands like you’re some kind of circus freak. What will they do when warm weather returns and you start wearing tank tops, t-shirts, and shorts, revealing all your scarring? What kinds of stories will the rumor mill churn out then?

_Friday, October 30, 1998_

Friday morning before work you get a call from Marge, who proudly says she finished your custom order early and that you can pick it up that day. You stop by after work and are shocked to see just how big the order actually was. It takes a ridiculous number of bags to hold all the clothes, which Marge helps you walk out to your car. She tries to make small talk as you two work, but you do your best not to give her any more info that she can go spouting off to the rest of the town. Once the order is loaded in the car, you thank Marge for her efforts and drive off before she can ask any more questions.

You walk through the front door of the cabin, arms overflowing with bags of clothes, to find Nemesis sitting patiently on the sofa as usual. You drop the bags at his feet, and he looks at you curiously. “I figured you couldn’t be comfortable wearing nothing but a leather coat every single day, so I bought you more clothes. They’re all hand-made and specially fitted for you.”

Nemesis leans forward with interest and begins to rummage through the bags. He pulls out and examines each individual article of clothing, and to your relief, he gives each one a growl of approval before setting it aside like a precious treasure. You sit on the sofa beside him and watch as he sorts through everything. You note that the trench coat looks just as good in person, and you can’t wait to see him in it. Finally, he gets to the last bag, which contains the white robe. The material is incredibly soft and fluffy, like Sherpa, and he pauses as soon as he reaches into the bag and touches it. He runs his fingers over the fabric contemplatively, then pulls the robe out of the bag. To your surprise, he buries his face in the fluff and lets out the most satisfied purr you have ever heard. It takes all your strength not to break out laughing at his unexpected reaction.

“So you like it, then?” you ask. He drops the robe onto his lap and leans over to embrace you while making a bunch of incoherent sounds. You’ll take that as a yes.

_Saturday, October 31, 1998 - Halloween_

Halloween arrives and you finally start your period. You suppose that going off your birth control for a few weeks is what threw your body so off schedule. You’ve never been so relieved to see your own blood. Unfortunately, that relief is quickly overshadowed by the usual excruciating cramps. Whereas you normally spend your days bustling around the house or kicking back with a nice book, today you can’t find the energy to do anything other than sit on the sofa and massage your aching abdomen.

It doesn’t take Nemesis long at all to sense that something is wrong with you. He acts relatively normal at first, following you to the sofa and sitting beside you. But then he starts to act much more concerned than usual and coddling you. He defensively hovers his body over you and holds you close, and any time you try to pull away, he just growls protectively and holds you tighter. He frequently nuzzles his face into you and inhales deeply, followed each time by a troubled grumble. In all honesty, you appreciate him being there for you, even if he’s being a bit possessive and you aren’t sure he even knows what’s going on. It doesn’t help that he is wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and his fluffy robe, making you want to just snuggle up against him all day.

You run a hand along his cheek. “Hey, you can tell something’s up, can’t you?”

He grumbles some more as he strokes your hair. Then he mumbles something that you can barely make out. “Hurt.”

His spoken vocabulary has gradually been expanding since you moved into the cabin. He already knew how to say “stars”, “love”, and your name. He has since added the words “mate”, “food”, “salt”, “sleep”, and “fuck”, though you were quick to shut down that last one. “Hurt” is another new one.

“Why do you think I’m hurt?” you ask.

He places a large hand over your lower abdomen and applies a satisfying pressure. “Blood.”

“You think I’m hurt because I’m bleeding?” Perhaps he is able to detect the scent? You place your hand over his and smile up at him. “It’s okay, I’m not injured or anything. I’m just menstruating.”

Nemesis looks at you strangely. He opens his mouth as if he is about to attempt to repeat the word, but four syllables are a bit much for his mutant vocal cords, so he closes it again.

“It’s called a period. All human women do it,” you explain. “For a few days every month we bleed down there. It’s perfectly normal and healthy.”

Nemesis grumbles again, seemingly unconvinced. “Why?”

This is the first time he has ever asked a question, and it catches you by surprise. You shuffle nervously beneath him. Are you really going to have to explain the female reproductive cycle to him? He instinctively knew how to have sex when you first met him, so surely he understands how human reproduction works, right? “Uh, well, it’s basically because the female reproductive system releases an egg every month. And if that egg isn’t fertilized, then it needs to be discarded along with the lining of the womb. So it comes out with a bunch of blood and other gooey stuff.”

Nemesis growls thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, he speaks up again. “Hurt?”

“I mean, I know I said I’m not injured, but… it does hurt, a little bit. Mostly around here.” You move his hand aside and motion to the cramped areas of your body. He watches closely, almost analytically. “It makes my head hurt too sometimes, and I’m just really tired.”

With a calming purr, Nemesis rests his chin on the top of your head and wraps his arms around you, placing his hands on your waist. He begins to massage you, pressing deep into your muscles with his fingers. He does this with intention and strength, but he still remains gentle, and you find yourself melting into his touch with a sigh.

“God, Nemesis, that feels amazing,” you murmur dreamily. His chest rumbles happily at your feedback as his hands make their way across you, working out all the cramps. You place both your hands over his and marvel at the feeling of his tendons contracting and relaxing underneath his skin. You glance up at his face, and you’ve never seen him look so focused. “You know what else happens when I’m on my period?” you ask. “I crave pizza.” Nemesis tilts his head and grumbles with confusion. “It’s like a big round piece of bread covered with squished tomatoes and melted cheese and whatever else you want to put on it,” you explain. “It’s basically everyone’s favorite food at least once in their lives.” You go quiet for a moment, lost in the pressure of Nemesis’ hands against your pelvis. Then an idea hits you. “Hey, I haven’t ordered pizza before because you could probably eat a dozen large pizzas in a sitting, and I can’t afford that shit. But since today’s a holiday, I suppose we could afford to splurge a little.” Nemesis makes a sound of approval and buries his face in your hair. You laugh and shake your head. “Alright, pizza for dinner it is, then.”

* * *

Steve used to love Halloween when he was a kid. He loved dressing up in costumes and getting free candy. Now he’s eighteen, much too old to be trick-or-treating, and he is instead spending his Halloween delivering pizzas. God, he hates Halloween. All the parents in town are too busy dressing up their brats and handing out candy to cook a proper meal, so they all just order pizzas. It’s one of the busiest nights of the year, and Steve feels like he’s going to be run into the ground if he has to deliver just one more order. He steps back into the pizzeria only to be greeted by another stack of pizza boxes for delivery, and he groans internally.

The manager, Greta, turns to face him when she hears the door chime. “Ah, Steve. Got another delivery for ya.”

“Can’t wait,” Steve deadpans as he approaches the huge stack of boxes.

“Well at least this one should be easy,” Greta says. "It's all one delivery."

“What?” Steve picks up the receipt sitting on top of the boxes. Sure enough, it’s a single order for thirteen large cheese pizzas. “Someone must be having a big party. Who’s the order for?”

“Should say on the receipt,” Greta says.

Steve scans over the receipt until his eyes fall on the address. He has to reread it a few times to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. “Holy shit.”

“Language, Steven,” Greta warns.

“C-can’t you get someone else to deliver this one?” Steve asks.

“All our other drivers are out already, you know this. Why?”

“Uh… no reason.” Steve fidgets with the receipt.

“Well then, you better get it out there and delivered if you want a decent tip.”

“Right. On it.” Steve clumsily wraps his arms around the huge stack of pizzas and retreats out the door to put them in the passenger seat of the delivery car. He then walks around and gets in behind the wheel, slamming the door shut behind him. For a moment he just sits there, staring through the windshield at the front of the pizzeria. Every bone in his body is telling him this delivery is a bad idea, but he doesn’t really have much of a choice. He’s simply going to have to deliver these pizzas to the cabin up on the mountain.

He turns the key, switches on the headlights, and backs out of the parking spot to begin his drive to the edge of town. Trick-or-treaters line the streets like some kind of demented celebration of his own impending funeral. Maybe he’s too superstitious, or maybe he’s watched too many horror movies, but there’s definitely something off about that cabin. Nobody really thought much of the cabin until a few weeks ago. There used to be a nice couple that would stay there every summer, something Valentine from what his parents told him, but for the last few years the cabin has remained empty, growing more decrepit with each passing season. Then, out of nowhere, talk started to circulate about someone new moving in, a young woman named (y/n). Steve hadn’t thought much of it at first; it was perfectly normal that someone would move in again eventually. But then Steve started to learn more about this woman, and there were things that just didn’t sit right with him.

The first red flag was that she moved here from Raccoon City. That place is already associated with death and disease, and surely that association could have followed her here like some kind of curse. Then there’s the fact that she is missing a finger, her left pinky to be precise, and she refuses to tell anyone why. She’s overall incredibly secretive, hardly coming into town at all other than to put in her hours at the antique shop and buy groceries. And that’s another thing. According to his classmate Kayla, the woman from the cabin buys enough groceries to feed an elephant every single week. What is she doing with all that food? He also heard that she bought a pregnancy test and was hoping for a negative. That, of course, kickstarted the rumors about her supposed boyfriend, the film student. Some people say he lives in the city, yet others say that he lives in the cabin with her. What’s so strange is that nobody has ever seen him before. According to Marge, the woman ordered an entire custom wardrobe as a gift for him because he is eight feet tall and can’t fit into normal clothes. Eight. Fucking. Feet. Marge also claims he is Scandinavian based on his name, which Steve is unable to recall at the moment. All he remembers is that it is a ridiculous name that he’s never heard before and probably isn’t even real.

Despite all this weirdness surrounding the woman in the cabin and her possibly non-existent boyfriend, Steve had been willing to give the situation the benefit of the doubt. Some people are just eccentric and reserved. But then Steve heard about what happened to Edward, and all possibilities of innocence flew out the window. Apparently, this woman brought a coat in for Edward to clean and repair. A reasonably normal request, except for the fact that it was covered in blood. The woman claimed it was pig blood. Edward says that the blood smelled horrid, like death and decay. And to tie everything together, the woman told Edward that the only way her film student boyfriend can wear the coat is by wearing stilts. If that is true, then why did she order all those custom clothes from Marge? There is a clear contradiction in this woman’s stories, and that is the final nail in the coffin to convince Steve that something is horribly amiss.

He has spent plenty of time pondering what the woman could possibly be hiding. One of his friends insists that she murdered her boyfriend, then took the coat to be cleaned as a memento of her kill. Steve’s sister insists that the boyfriend doesn’t exist at all and the woman is just delusional. Another friend suggests that the boyfriend was killed by zombies and the woman is just trying to cope with her loss in strange ways. Those are some of the more believable theories, but there are others that get a little crazy. One theory says that the woman is the leader of a sex cult that cuts off their pinkies, and the reason she needs all the groceries is to fuel their cultist orgies. Another theory says that she got infected when a zombie bit off her finger and the only way to keep herself from turning is to eat a shit ton of food. An alternative theory is that her boyfriend is a zombie. Yet another theory says that she’s a witch who cut off her pinky as a blood sacrifice to summon an eight-foot-tall goat demon boyfriend with a voracious appetite who could impregnate her with the antichrist. There are other theories floating around, but they eventually get so insane that it’s impossible to keep track of them.

On one hand, Steve thinks that the people in this town need to find something better to do with their lives than come up with theories about the birth of the antichrist. On the other hand, zombies are apparently real, so anything is possible at this point.

Steve has a theory of his own, although it isn’t nearly as entertaining as some of the other ones circulating around. He’s heard all over the news about the string of murders taking place around the campus of his sister’s university. They still haven’t caught the serial killer responsible, and there is very little if any evidence to go off. After giving it some thought, Steve realized that the beginning of the murders corresponds closely with when the woman was first seen in town. Is it possible that she’s the one responsible, or is at least involved in some way? It’s a theory with no factual standing, but at least it’s more believable than her being a witch with a demonic friend with benefits.

The road levels out and the headlights illuminate the cabin up ahead. How did he already get here? He must have been driving with his brain on autopilot, as he tends to do when he’s out making deliveries. With a heavy breath, Steve puts the car in park and removes the keys from the ignition. This is it. This could be his chance to figure out what the hell is going on up here. Or this could be his chance to fucking die. Either way, he has to deliver these pizzas, so he had better just go out there and get it over with.

Steve exits the car and retrieves the huge stack of pizzas from the passenger seat. As he walks up to the cabin, he notices that the woods surrounding the cabin are deathly silent. It is too late at night for birds. It is too late in the year for crickets and tree frogs. The wind is still, so he can’t even hear the rustling of the leaves. The only sound is the crunch of the dry grass under his sneakers as he walks. The sky is cloudy, blocking any light from the moon and stars. The porchlight on the cabin is dim and flickering, barely producing enough light for him to make his way up the steps of the front porch.

Balancing the stack of pizzas in one arm, he reaches out his other hand and nervously raps his knuckles against the wooden door and waits. Steve can hear a woman’s voice from inside, but he can’t make out what she is saying. After another moment, the door slowly opens just a smidge, and Steve can see someone’s eye peeking out through the crack. With a deep breath, he offers up his best smile. “Hi, I’m Steve from Melanie’s Pizzeria. I’ve got a delivery of thirteen large cheese pizzas for a Miss (y/n)?”

The eye scans Steve over with a nervous suspicion before the door slowly opens the rest of the way, revealing you, a tiny woman in pajamas, with a handful of cash. You certainly don’t look like a witch or a serial killer or whatever else people are saying. “Thanks. Here’s your cash. Tip’s in there too,” you say quietly as you hand him the money.

Steve carefully observes your hand as he takes the money, and sure enough, you are missing a finger. His eyes dart up to look past you and into the living room. It’s a cozy, normal looking room with a sofa, an armchair, a fireplace and an end table with a lamp. Just beyond the living room is an entryway that leads to what appears to be the kitchen. From what he can tell, you seem to be the only one home. Who were you talking to, then?

“Hey, stop snooping and give us our pizzas,” you say, snapping Steve back to attention. _Us_? _Our_? So there _is_ someone else home?

“Oh, uh, sorry. Here you go.” Steve hands off the pizzas to you. As the weight of the boxes shifts from his arms to yours, he swears he catches something moving in the corner of his eye. His gaze flickers over your shoulder again and he instantly freezes. A figure in a white bath robe is striding out of a previously unseen hallway and across the far end of the living room toward the kitchen. Calling the figure massive would be an understatement; it has a broad, muscular body and is so tall that its head nearly brushes the ceiling. Its skin has a sickly pale purple tint reminiscent of a corpse.

“What are you looking at like that?” you ask, turning to look over your shoulder. You tense at the sight of Nemesis waltzing carelessly across the room. “Nemesis! I told you to stay in the back!” you screech, and he freezes and turns to look at you. That’s when Steve gets a clear view of his face. God, that face…

_THUMP._

* * *

You stare wide-eyed at the pizza delivery boy who just collapsed unconscious on your front porch. You turn back toward Nemesis, who still stands frozen on the spot. “What the fuck, Nemesis? I told you I’d let you know when it was safe!” He simply grumbles at you, a bit shocked to hear you suddenly so angry. You sigh with frustration. “Just take the pizzas into the kitchen,” you sternly tell him. “And then stay in the kitchen.” He obliges, taking the pizzas from your arms and disappearing through the doorway.

You rub your hands over your face with a groan before turning back to face the predicament laying in a heap on your porch. You crouch down to examine the boy more closely. What was his name again? Sven? Stan? You push his body to roll him over, revealing a nametag that reads “Steve”.

“Damn it Steve,” you mutter. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

There are several ways you could solve this problem, but none of them are particularly good. The way you’ve dealt with all your recent problems has been brutal murder, but that was when you were dealing with evil Umbrella operatives trying to kill you. Steve is just a pizza delivery boy, and he’s not trying to kill you, so murder seems a bit excessive. Besides, his car is in your driveway and his pizzas are in your kitchen, so there would be way too much evidence. Murder is out of the question. Another solution would be to call the police, but you don't want to get involved with law enforcement. A better solution would be to just close the door and leave him there. Let him wake up on his own time. It’s not like he has any evidence. People would have to take his word for it that there is a giant monster living in your cabin, and you doubt anyone would believe such nonsense. Then again, there could be undercover Umbrella operatives anywhere. If word gets out about this, even just as a rumor from some kid that everyone thinks is delusional, it could spell bad news. You’ll have to make sure that he stays quiet, but convincing him would require you to acknowledge that what he saw was real. No, you’ll instead have to act like he didn't see anything at all.

Mustering all your strength, you wrap your arms underneath Steve and hoist him up bridal style. Thankfully he’s a pretty scrawny kid, so you manage to stumble your way down the porch steps and over to the car. You carefully maneuver his body so that you can grab the handle and open the driver’s door. You then carefully place him in the driver’s seat, strap his seatbelt, and shut the door behind him. With the boy no longer crumpled on your porch, you reenter the house and dig around in the desk drawer for your pen and notepad. You rip off a sheet and begin to write. Once satisfied with your message, you grab your wallet and head back out the door toward the car. This had better work, damn it.

* * *

Steve groggily opens his eyes in a disoriented haze. He reaches a hand up to rub his face, trying to remember where he is and how he got here. After regaining some clarity, he looks around and determines that he is in the driver’s seat of the pizza delivery car. He looks out the windshield, and a jolt of intense dread ripples through his body. He is still at the cabin on the mountain. The cabin on the mountain with a hideous eight-foot-tall monster.

Steve begins to pat his pockets frantically in search of his car keys, but they are nowhere to be found. “Shit shit shit shit,” he mutters as he looks around the car to see if he dropped them. His eyes fall on something sitting in the passenger seat, so he turns on the light at the top of the car to see better. His car keys are sitting there, along with a folded paper and a small stack of money. He reaches out and takes the paper, unfolding it to reveal a handwritten note.

> _Steve,_
> 
> _Thank you kindly for the pizzas. I don’t know what happened that caused you to suddenly collapse unconscious on my porch, but you should probably see a doctor about it. I would have brought you inside to make sure you were okay, but I live alone, and I wouldn’t have felt safe with a stranger in my house. I hope that returning you to your car suffices instead. I have included an extra $50 tip for your trouble. Maybe it can help pay for whatever medication you need to take to prevent future episodes of unprovoked fainting._
> 
> _Best wishes for a fast recovery, and happy Halloween._

Steve rereads the note, then picks up the stack of money. Sure enough, it is $50. But he knows it isn’t really a tip. It’s hush money.


	5. Trust

_Sunday, November 1, 1998_

You stare down into your coffee with a frown. Sitting in the café is not how you thought you would be spending your Sunday morning, but here you are. You had a rough weekend, to say the least, and it all started with that stupid pizza delivery fiasco. You knew in your gut that you shouldn’t have had the pizzas delivered. You should have just driven into town with your new car and picked them up yourself. But you had been so sore from your period cramps, and you had just wanted to stay home and snuggle. So against your better judgement, you had the pizzas delivered, and then that kid, that _stupid_ kid, had decided to loiter and snoop and catch a glimpse of someone he probably shouldn’t have. Someone in a fluffy white bath robe, but you doubt that detail influenced the kid’s perception at all.

You tried to be mad at Nemesis. You really did. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him. He knew he had fucked up, and you figured that making him witness your deteriorating mental stability as a direct result of his actions was punishment enough. You forced yourselves to eat the pizza, but it just tasted like regret. In the end, most of the pizzas got stored in the fridge, untouched even by Nemesis’ unending appetite. At least you wouldn’t have to cook for a few days.

The rest of the evening was spent pacing anxiously around the house. You dreaded the fact that someone knew, someone you didn’t know anything about and couldn’t trust. You dreaded that you made the wrong decision by sending him away with the ambiguous note and the money. You dreaded that he would tell people. You dreaded that people might believe him. You dreaded that it might fall upon the wrong ears. You dreaded going into work the next day and facing the prying eyes of the citizens of this god-forsaken town. The more your mind pondered the potential consequences of this incident, the more panicked and stressed you became, like an endless loop of anxiety.

Nemesis tried his best to get you to calm down, but it was a lost cause. You shook him off when he tried to touch you. You ignored him when he gestured for you to sit down and take a breath. Eventually he gave up and just sat miserably on the sofa, watching you simmer in your thoughts. It wasn’t until you went to bed that it struck you just how remorseful he was about all this. He touched your arm under the covers so hesitantly, as if asking for your permission. When you ignored him, turning to your side facing away from him, he started to quietly make the most miserable keening sounds. It immediately got to you, and you rolled over and embraced him. “Alright,” you told him. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just... scared. I’m scared because I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I’m scared because I don’t want to lose you again. I’m just… I’m terrified.” He quickly quieted down, but you remained awake most of the night, unable to silence your fear.

When you walked into the antique shop this morning, Emily took one look at you and immediately told you to take the day off. You insisted that you need the money, but she insisted she would pay you for a sick day. She said you looked absolutely miserable, like you hadn’t slept in weeks. She then demanded that you stop by the café and get a coffee, on her, to perk yourself up. You felt bad taking the $5 she offered you and pocketing it, so you stopped by the café out of obligation and ordered the best thing you could get for $5. You weren’t even sure what it was, not being a big coffee drinker, but you didn’t really care. You just wanted to get in and get out as fast as possible.

Now here you are, sitting on a stool at the counter and staring into your coffee like it is the most interesting thing you have ever seen.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

You flinch, easily startled as a result of your nerves being on edge for two days straight. You glance over to see an attractive young woman with dark skin and curly black hair held back with a rainbow headband. She is standing by the stool beside yours with her own cup of coffee, watching you expectantly. You turn to look over your shoulder and examine the rest of the café; it is completely empty except for the two of you and the barista behind the counter.

“Not enough empty space for you?” you ask suspiciously.

“Well, you just seemed a bit troubled, and I thought you might like some company.”

You glance her over in search of anything that stands out as a red flag. She is very fashionably dressed and stands a bit taller than you would. Her face is warm and kind. You don’t trust that at all.

“I can’t really stop you,” you mutter as you turn back to stare into your coffee again.

You hear her clothes rustle as she boosts herself up onto the stool and takes a sip of her own coffee. “My name’s Jenna Stewart, what’s yours?” she asks cheerfully.

“(Y/n).”

“Ah, I’ve heard about you,” Jenna says. “You moved into the cabin a few weeks ago, right?”

“Yep.”

Jenna takes another sip of coffee. “Well in that case, I’d like to apologize.”

You cock an eyebrow and turn to look at her out of your peripheral vision. “Apologize?”

“Yeah, for this town being so, I dunno, scummy.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, curious to hear what she is getting at.

“Well, we don’t really see you around much, and I can’t blame you. I've lived here with my family my whole life, so I know that everyone around here has this awful tendency to just butt into everyone else’s business and come up with crazy rumors. It’s real rude.”

“Rumors, huh?” you say. “What are they saying about me?”

“Oh, all kinds of stuff,” Jenna says. “Everything from murder to witchcraft to government conspiracies. I think it’s a load of nonsense. Superstition and the like. You seem perfectly fine to me, albeit a bit stressed out, maybe.”

You chuckle darkly. “And why should you care?”

Jenna simply smiles. “Because stress sucks. I'm going for my undergrad in the city right now, so I know all about stress.”

“Oh yeah? What are you studying?”

Jenna puts down her coffee and makes a strange gesture with her hands. “American sign language.”

You stare at her hands like you’ve just seen god.

"Uh, you alright?” she asks when you fail to respond.

“Teach me.”

“W-what?”

“That thing. The sign language. Teach me. I’ll pay you.”

She gives you a strange look. “Woah hold on now. One second you’re acting all brooding and mysterious, and the next moment you’re begging me to be your sign language tutor?”

You tap your fingers on the counter impatiently. “Oh, so I come off as brooding and mysterious now?”

“I’m just curious why you want to learn sign so suddenly. It’s not really something people use in normal day-to-day life.”

“Bold of you to assume my day-to-day life is normal,” you scoff. “If you have to know, I have a… friend… who is mostly mute.”

“Oh, mute? Not deaf?” Jenna looks at you curiously. “That’s not terribly common. Huh. Well, I mean, I guess I could teach you, if you really want. But I don’t know how well you would pick it up, considering that you seem to be a bit… antisocial.”

You stare at her blankly. “Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I just had a really, really rough weekend and I’m a bit out of sorts. The whole reason I’m even in here right now is because I had to take a sick day. I’ll be better by tomorrow.”

“Well…”

“I can see that cheeky smile peeking through. Stop playing hard to get and just tell me you’ll teach me.”

Jenna laughs, the smile finally breaking through. “Gosh, who knew all it would take to break through the cold, hard exterior of the mysterious new girl would be sign language lessons?”

“Don’t call me girl,” you mutter.

“Alright, alright. I’ll teach you. How about we meet at the library? I have classes Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays but I’m free any other day.”

“I work, so anytime after four works for me.”

“Okay, let’s meet at the library on Tuesdays after four, starting this week. Sound good?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Alright, it’s a date!” Jenna turns up her coffee and chugs the rest before getting up from the stool. “Glad to see you finally opening up a little! I’ll see you Tuesday!” She tosses her empty cup in the trash and leaves, and you return to staring deeply into your coffee.

Did you just make a friend? Or did you just make a mistake?

_Tuesday, November 3, 1998_

Tuesday after work you head straight to the library. You made sure to get a full night of sleep and eat some real food in hopes of being a little less snappy. Nemesis was happy to see your habits returning to some semblance of normal. You didn’t tell him about your lessons with Jenna, at least not yet. You want to scope out the arrangement and make sure there’s no fishy business first.

Sure enough, you step into the main lobby of the library to find Jenna sitting at one of the tables with a book. She appears to be alone, so that’s a good sign. You cautiously approach the table, looking around to make sure nobody is watching you. Jenna looks up from her book at your approach. “Hey, you made it!” she says excitedly. “I was afraid you’d chicken out.”

You snort. “Chicken is the last word I’d use to describe myself.” You pull out a chair and sit down across from her. “What are you reading?”

“Shakespeare,” Jenna says with a roll of the eyes. “It’s for my literature gen-ed. Trust me, I’d rather be reading something else.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, gosh, I dunno. I like murder mysteries, I guess. And Stephen King. Oh, and the new Harry Potter book just came out in July. I know it’s kind of meant for kids, but it’s a guilty pleasure.” She closes the book and slides it into the backpack sitting on the floor next to her chair. “What about you? What do you like to read?”

“I mostly just read whatever gets put in my hands,” you say.

“Oh, come on, you have to have a favorite genre at least,” Jenna says.

You rest your chin on your hands. “Okay, uh, I guess I can agree with murder mysteries. But only the ones that have a good twist. What’s the point in reading if you know who dunnit from chapter two?”

Jenna laughs. It’s a bright, genuine laugh that sounds too carefree to be coming from a college student. “Now if only half the authors out there could hear you say that.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Well, I guess we should get started. I figured we could start by learning the alphabet. That way you can spell out any words that you don’t know how to sign.”

“Hm. I don’t think that will be very effective.”

“Why not?”

“Uh… he doesn’t… read…”

Jenna gives you an odd look. “Oh. This friend of yours is how old, exactly?”

It strikes you that you don’t actually know how old Nemesis is. “Old enough to not know how to read?”

Jenna frowns. “Hm. Okay, well, I guess we could start with basic signs then. Common phrases, verbs, objects, that kind of thing. How about we-“

“Wait,” you interrupt. “Is, uh, this going to be a problem?” You hold up your left hand, revealing your missing pinky.

“It should be fine,” Jenna assures you without missing a beat. “You can probably just rely on your other hand for any signs that have a strong emphasis on the pinky.”

Jenna spends the next three hours showing you signs and helping you practice them. She starts slow, teaching you a sign and then having you practice it for a while before moving on to the next one. However, she soon notices how quickly you are picking it up and decides to increase the pace. There are several times throughout the lesson that she stops and tells you she’s taught you enough for today, but each time you vehemently insist that you want to learn more. She warns you that learning too much at once may make it more difficult to remember all the signs and grammar rules, but you tell her you don’t care, you want to learn more. By the end of the three hours, she has already covered about four lessons worth of material. When she gives you a review, she is surprised to see that you retained almost everything, even the things she taught you at the beginning of the lesson.

“I’ve never seen anyone so passionate about this,” she says after the review. “I mean, you aren’t a prodigy or anything, but you’re just so determined. If you keep learning and retaining at this rate, you’ll be able to sustain a basic conversation in just a few months.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” you say. “It helps that you’re a good teacher.”

Jenna waves a hand dismissively. “Whatever, I haven’t even graduated yet, I can’t be that good.” She reaches for her bag. “Well, keep practicing the signs and grammar that I taught you. I recommend using a mirror so you can review what the signs look like on the receiving end. Let’s plan to meet again next week, same time and place.”

“Oh, you mean, we’re done for today?” you ask, disappointment ringing in your voice.

Jenna gawks at you. “We’ve been practicing for three hours and you still want to learn more? Gosh, I wish I had that kind of work ethic to get through college.”

“It’s just… this is kind of everything to me,” you say.

Jenna smiles. “Well even if you could keep this up all night, which I have no doubt you could, I need to get home for dinner. My parents will be worried sick if I stay out too late.”

You scoff. "You're in college. Aren't you a little old to be controlled by your parents like that?"

Jenna shrugs. "Hey, they're paying for my tuition, and I'm living under their roof. Gotta keep them happy."

"Well that sucks."

Jenna throws her backpack over her shoulders. “You know what? How about I teach you one more sign, since you’re still so eager to learn? But this time I’ll let you pick the word you want to learn. Any word at all.” You ponder this for a moment. There are a lot of words, how are you supposed to pick just one? Jenna must notice your overwhelmed expression, because she offers a suggestion. “How about a word that is really important to both you and your friend?”

You lean back in your chair, immediately knowing what word to ask for. “How about stars?”

“Hey, that’s a good one. It’s like this.” She holds up her index fingers and motions upward with alternating hands, and you repeat the motion. “Yeah, that’s perfect! Mind if I ask why you picked that word?”

“It was the first word he ever said to me,” you say.

“I thought you said he’s mute?”

“No, I said he’s _mostly_ mute. He still says a few words. And even then, it can be hard to understand what’s he’s saying because his voice is so… uh, well, I think his vocal cords are messed up or something so it’s hard for him to talk.”

“Ah, got it. It’s so nice that you’re learning sign for him. I hope he appreciates you going out of your way to communicate.” She turns to walk away. “Have a good evening, okay? And I’ll see you next Tuesday!”

You wave back and watch as she leaves the library. She is so friendly and innocent, with the bonus of not prying into your life. Maybe you did make a friend, after all?

_Tuesday, November 10, 1998_

When Jenna sees you next Tuesday, you look incredibly discouraged. She watches as you sit down across the table from her with a frown. “Hey, (y/n)! You ready to learn some more?”

You fidget with your hands. “Uh, actually, I have a question first.”

“Sure, what’s bugging you?”

Jenna watches as you struggle to find your words. “I’m doing alright with remembering the signs and the grammar you taught me. I can’t really practice in front of a mirror because… well, that doesn’t matter. What I wanted to ask is, what’s the best way to teach someone else sign?”

Jenna gives you a strange look. “Uh, why? You aren’t trying to teach someone sign, are you?”

You hesitate. “What if I am?”

Jenna facepalms. “(Y/n), you literally just started learning last week. There’s no way you can effectively teach someone else how to sign. Who are you even trying to teach?”

More hesitation. You mumble something incoherently.

“What was that?” Jenna asks.

“The friend.”

At this point, Jenna just looks confused. “The mute one?”

You nod. “Yeah, that one.”

A moment of baffled silence. “Are you trying to tell me that you are learning sign language so that you can communicate with your mute friend _who doesn’t know sign language_?”

“I thought I could teach him,” you mutter. “But it’s a lot harder to teach than it is to learn. He’s not stupid, I know he can do it. I just kind of suck.”

Jenna just looks more confused by the second. “But if he can’t speak, and he can’t sign, and he can’t read and therefore can’t write, how does anyone even communicate with him in the first place?”

“…Body language? Sounds? He’s very expressive.”

Jenna’s look of confusion gradually turns to one of contemplation. “Oh my god…” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Okay, listen, this is fishy. But!” She holds up a hand when she sees you open your mouth to interject. “I don’t care. Your life is your business and I’m not gonna let you think I stick my nose where it doesn’t belong like everyone else in this town. So just hear me out. I still want to help you communicate with whoever this person is. But the only way that’s going to happen is if he learns sign too. And I’m gonna have to teach him myself.”

“That won’t work,” you say plainly.

“Why not?” Jenna asks.

You rub your face with your hands. “It just won’t work.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither of you looking at each other. Finally, Jenna speaks up again. “Alright, I think I know what the problem is here. Whatever your situation is, you feel like you can't tell anyone about it. And it’s an absolutely miserable thing to feel like that. Believe me, I know what it’s like to hide something from the world and try to deal with it all by yourself because you’re afraid of what people will think or do if they find out. And if you don’t find an outlet, it’ll just eat you away from the inside out like some kind of parasite.”

You stare wide-eyed at Jenna as you try to process everything she just said. First, what life-ruining secret could she possibly be hiding from the world? And second, how is she able to read you like an open book? She knows you’re hiding something, and she knows it’s killing you, and you haven’t even told her anything. Maybe she should have majored in psychology instead. “This is different,” you eventually mutter. “This is so different. You have no idea. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you.”

Jenna looks conflicted, as if she isn’t sure what she wants to say. “Well, even if you don’t trust me, I trust you. And I’ll believe whatever you say, even if it’s something crazy like…” Her voice drifts off and she looks to the side. “Actually, maybe we should approach this differently. I still would love to teach you sign, and your friend too, but if I'm going to teach effectively and you're going to learn effectively, you're going to have to have some trust in me. How about you come over to my house for dinner tonight? I can introduce you to my family, maybe we can play a few of my little brother’s video games. I think he has Mario Kart 64. He’s really tech-savvy, so he might even have some cool games and hacks on his PC.”

You frown, angry at yourself for letting things get this far. You didn’t expect her to be so intuitive and… manipulative? Is she even being manipulative? Or is she genuinely reaching out from the kindness of her heart? Maybe she’s right that you have trust issues. At this point, you can’t even trust yourself to make the right decisions to protect the one person you care about more than anything. All you wanted to do was be able to talk with him, damn it.

“What’s your life-ruining secret?” you blurt out.

Jenna looks taken by surprise. “Huh?”

“You said you know what it’s like to hide something. And you said you trust me. So if that’s true, you’ll tell me what it is. And if you tell me what it is, then I’ll agree to have dinner with your family.”

Jenna frowns deeply, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve seen her do so. “I… you… uh…” She folds her hands neatly on the table, and you can see her knuckles turn pale from her squeezing her hands so hard. You’ve never seen anyone look so uncomfortable. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just…” She trails off, trying not to look at you.

You sigh. “Okay, let’s make this a little more reasonable,” you say. “Tell me why you’re so adamant about helping me, a total stranger who you’ve only spoken to for four hours max. If you’re convincing, then maybe I’ll consider your family dinner.”

Jenna’s hands relax a little, but she still maintains her tense posture. “Uh, well, the truth is… I’m kind of a loser. I didn’t have a ton of friends in high school, and the ones I did have all moved away for college. I’ve tried making new friends at the university, but like I said, I’m a loser. And there’s not many other people in this town close to my age, except maybe my brother.” She smiles shyly. “But then I heard about you moving into town, and then I heard all the rumors people were spreading about you, and I felt really bad because it kind of sounded like you didn’t have any friends here either. And then I saw you in the café and you looked so upset, and I thought maybe… we could be friends?” She looks down at her hands. “I know, it’s stupid. I’m stupid.”

“So you want to help me because we’re both losers and losers should stick together?” you say.

Jenna looks panicked. “No! No, you’re not a loser at all! You’re actually really cool! Like, all the rumors people are talking about? Obviously none of it’s true, it’s all way too over the top to be true, but they make you sound all cool and mysterious. And at least people are talking about you! At least people know you exist! You’re kind of like the town celebrity.” You can’t help but ponder the irony of the situation. Jenna is a nobody who desires to be known, and you’re a somebody who just wants to disappear off the map.

You sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been so standoffish. You seem like the only genuine person in this stupid town, and here I am acting like an asshole.”

“You aren’t acting like an asshole,” Jenna says. “You’re just stressed out because people won’t leave you alone. I completely understand.”

“Do… do you still want me to come over for dinner?” you ask hesitantly.

Jenna’s eyes light up. “You actually want to?”

You shrug. “I mean, it’s not like it’s going to kill me.”

Jenna laughs. “And here I was planning to poison your food. Guess that plan is going out the window.”

You smile at her dark humor. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Jenna’s house is conveniently located just a short walk away from the library. The two of you chat about various nonsense along the way, discussing recent books and movies, reminiscing about childhood pets, listing your hobbies, describing your favorite music. You are pleasantly surprised by the insignificance of the drabble. Not once does she ask any prying questions about your life before moving here. It’s the first time you have felt relaxed while talking to anybody in this town, and you greatly appreciate it.

The house is a standard two-story, located in the suburbs surrounding the shopping district. She opens the front door for you, and you step inside. She immediately takes off her shoes, so you do the same out of respect. “Mom! Dad! I’m home!” Jenna shouts. “I brought my study friend!”

“We’re in the kitchen!” a woman shouts from somewhere else in the house.

“It’s this way,” Jenna says with a wave of the hand. You follow her down the hallway and around the corner into the combined kitchen and dining room. A young man, who you presume to be Jenna’s younger brother, is sitting at the table with his back to you playing a handheld video game. An older man, probably Jenna’s father, is sitting across the table from him. Jenna’s mother is standing behind the kitchen counter setting out serving dishes full of what appears to be chicken and rice.

“Oh, so you’re Jenna’s new friend!” the mother says with a warm smile. “(Y/n), right? It’s so nice of you to join us. I’ll get an extra plate for you.”

“That’s very kind of you, thank you,” you say. “I’m sorry for barging in on your dinner like this unannounced.”

“It’s not a problem at all,” the father says in a deep, booming voice. “We’re always happy to have company. Please take a seat.”

Jenna walks around to the other side of the table and sits beside her father, and you sit next to her. You look toward her brother, who at the same time looks up from his video game, and you freeze.

The brother throws the video game onto the table and jumps to his feet, shooting out his index finger to point at you accusingly. “You!”

It’s Steve.

Jenna sighs and puts her face in her hands. “Steve, please don’t start this again.”

“You two know each other?” the father asks curiously.

“Uh… he delivered some pizzas at my house a few weeks ago…” you say.

Steve leans in toward Jenna. “What is she doing here?” he hisses.

“She’s my new friend who’s helping me study ASL. I already told you this.”

“But you didn’t tell me it was _her_!” he yells.

“Because I knew you’d lose your shit!” she yells back.

“Language, Jennifer,” her father scolds.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“And Steven, you sit back down and be respectful to our guest,” the father adds.

“But she-“

“Steven.”

Steve and his father have a stare-down for a few seconds before he slowly lowers himself back into his chair. He then turns to glare at you through narrowed eyes. Thankfully the mother approaches the table and distracts everyone by setting down plates full of food. The father leads in saying grace, and then everyone starts eating. Everyone except Steve, who just pokes at his food with a fork while staring sideways at you. You try your best not to make eye contact with him.

“So, (y/n), Jenna tells us that she’s teaching you ASL. She says you’re a fast learner,” the mother says.

“Oh, uh, I don’t think that’s the case,” you say. “I’m just really focused is all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Jenna says. “You’re really good.”

“What do you think of the town so far?” the father asks. “We heard you’re new here.”

You chew your food thoughtfully. “It’s okay. Quiet, mostly. Although some people-“ you glare at Steve, “-tend to be a bit nosy.” He scrunches his face at you. How mature.

“Well, I can’t blame them, really,” the mother says, not noticing your nonverbal exchange with her son. “You moved here from Raccoon City, right? I’m sure everyone is just interested in your first-hand account of everything that happened.”

You shuffle nervously in your seat. “Ah, yeah, I bet that’s it. Not every day you meet someone who’s seen a zombie.” You force a chuckle.

“Is that how you lost your finger?” the father pipes in.

“Dad!” Jenna whines.

You offer Jenna a reassuring smile before you turn to her father. “I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Of course you don’t,” Steve mutters under his breath.

Despite your best judgement, you decide to indulge him. “So, Steve, how is your condition coming along?”

“Condition?” the mother asks.

“Oh, yes, after he delivered my pizzas he passed out on my front porch. I thought maybe he had some condition or something. Like narcolepsy?”

The father glares at Steve. “You never told us about this.”

“It’s fine, I just got a little lightheaded,” Steve says.

“You weren’t doing drugs that night, were you?” his mother asks warily.

“Ugh, no Mom, I told you I don’t do drugs. It was just a freak accident.”

“I helped him back to his car and gave him a generous tip,” you explain. “I’ve thought about it off and on. I’m glad to see he’s okay now.”

“Bullshit!” Steve snaps.

“Steven!” his father booms. “What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing! I’m fine!” Steve insists.

“Are you sure?” you prod. “You’re acting like I killed someone.”

Steve angrily pushes himself up from his seat. “I need to excuse myself.”

“Steven, you sit back down and eat your dinner,” the father says sternly.

“Oh, let him go,” the mother says. “I think he should step away if he is going to treat our guest so rudely.” You give Steve a subtle stare as he pushes in his chair and marches down the hallway.

“You’ll have to forgive him,” his father says. “You know how teenagers can be. He’s not usually like this, though.”

“It’s alright,” you say. “I’m sure he’s just self-conscious about the fainting incident.”

“It was nice of you to give him the extra tip,” Jenna says. “I think he used it to buy some components for his nerdy computer stuff.”

You smile. “That’s nice.”

The rest of the dinner continues without any hiccups. You talk about your job at the antique shop. Jenna’s parents tell you some funny stories from Jenna’s and Steve’s childhoods, which causes Jenna to blush noticeably. Jenna talks about how her studies are coming along (she’s a straight-A student, apparently). Once everyone has finished their meal, Jenna’s mother opens a can of mandarin oranges and divides them into several small bowls for dessert. This time spent with Jenna and her family brings you back to the times before you moved to Raccoon City to take over your uncle’s antique business, times when you lived with your parents and hung out with your high school friends. They are simple memories, but they are nice. You’re perfectly happy with your life now (how could you not be with such a wonderful mate), but you do sometimes wish things were as easy as they once were.

You swallow the last slice of orange in your bowl and wash it down with a sip of water. “That was a wonderful dinner,” you say. “Thank you so much for having me over.” You glance at the clock and note that it is 6:30. “I should probably be getting home now. I would hate to overstay my welcome.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re just glad to see Jenna making new friends,” the mother says. “You’re welcome to come over any time.”

“Have a safe trip home,” the father says.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Jenna offers. You follow her down the hallway to the front door, and you put on your shoes.

“Your family is really nice,” you say. “Well, your parents, at least.”

“I’m so sorry about my brother,” Jenna says. “He’s one of the reasons you don’t like this town, coming up with stupid stories about you.”

“What does he say about me?” you ask.

Jenna frowns. “Well, he claims that he saw something in your house. Some kind of giant, hideous creature. I know he’s just making it up, or he’s seeing things, but he’s so convinced that it’s real. And as if that isn’t enough, he says you’re the campus killer that's been in the news, and that you’re kidnapping students to feed to this creature. He’s honestly starting to scare me a little.”

You try not to look too nervous. He may be way out in left field about the murders, but he still knows too much. “He sounds nuts. Has he been telling people this story of his?”

Jenna shakes her head. “No, I’m the only one he trusts enough to tell. He says the tip you paid him was actually hush money, and if his story gets out then you’ll kidnap him and feed him to the creature in the middle of the night too.”

You force a chuckle of relief. He may not have bought your note, but at least he has the sense to keep quiet about it. “This would make a good murder mystery novel. Maybe he should stop delivering pizzas and become an author.”

“You can’t tell him I told you,” Jenna says. “He’ll never trust me with anything ever again.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you say while motioning as if zipping up your lips and throwing away the key.

“Ok, good. Anyway… about the sign language lessons,” Jenna starts. “I suppose you probably aren’t interested anymore. Unless you decide to let me teach your friend too?”

You wring your hands together. On one hand, you enjoy hanging out with Jenna. On the other hand, you know she’ll keep pestering you about teaching your so-called friend sign if you continue with the lessons. She must notice your hesitation, because she reaches toward a shelf next to the door and grabs a pen and notepad. She jots something down before ripping off the sheet and handing it to you. You look down to see she has given you a phone number.

“How about I give you some space to think about it? If you decide you and your friend are interested in learning together, just give me a call. Or, you know, if you just want to hang out and grab a coffee sometime.”

You smile and tuck the paper into your back pocket. “I’m sure you’ll hear from me about something or other.”

She looks genuinely happy at your response. “Great! Well, I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll let you go now. Thanks for agreeing to come over on such short notice.”

“Thanks for inviting me despite me being a pain in the ass,” you say. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Jenna waves and shuts the front door behind you as you walk across the front porch. As you head down the steps, something suddenly jumps at you from behind the bushes, and you barely catch yourself from falling over in the grass. You look around frantically to discover that the thing that jumped out at you is none other than Steve.

“Oh, it’s you,” you mutter as you recollect yourself. “What do you want?”

“You listen, and you listen good,” Steve spits as he shoves a finger against your chest. “You may be acting all goody-two-shoes, but I know what I saw. I kept my mouth shut, just like you wanted, but hell, if you’re still gonna kill me and feed me to that thing you’re hiding anyway, then fine, whatever.” He leans in so close that you can feel droplets of spit landing on your face as he speaks. “But you leave my sister the fuck alone.”

“Where did you learn to swear like that, young man?” you scold.

“I’m fucking serious,” he growls. “If you so much as lay a finger on her, I will fucking end you. You may be older than me, and that thing may be stronger than me, but I can guarantee that I’m smarter than you both combined.”

You laugh. You try not to, but you can’t help it. This scrawny kid leaning in your face and threatening you, after everything else you’ve been through, is just too hilarious. “Listen, Steve. I have no idea what you are talking about. Why in the world would I hurt Jenna? She’s been nothing but nice to me. You, on the other hand? You’re threatening me. You seem to have this crazy idea in your head that I’m someone dangerous.” You push him away.

“Because you are,” he hisses, and you shake your head as you turn to walk away.

“Kid, please don't make me prove you right," you mutter under your breath.


	6. The Thirteenth

_Friday, November 13, 1998_

Of all the things you expected to have on your mind while trying to simply live your life, a friend was not one of them. At first you ponder whether you can even consider Jenna to be a friend yet. You've only met with her three times, and she's pretty young and inexperienced with life. Then again, you already know a lot about her, and you've even met her family and been to her house. You get along like a house on fire. Talking to her is entertaining, and she never asks personal questions that would require you to maintain your innocent facade, so you can just be yourself for the most part around her. Even if she doesn't qualify as a friend yet, she's certainly on the path to becoming one, and that makes you nervous. This world is full of evil and unfairness and death. The less people you care about, the better.

Today, however, you find yourself distracted from such pondering. The significance of today’s date does not elude you. Ever since you were old enough for your parents to allow it, you’ve had a long-standing tradition of spending each Friday the 13th watching horror movies. Unfortunately, the cabin lacks a television, and all your VHS tapes are now buried underneath the rubble of an entire city. You dig around the house to see if Jason and his wife left any horror novels somewhere, but you come up empty handed. You can’t help but be saddened by this missed opportunity. You really want to know what Nemesis would think about horror films, slashers in particular, considering his own affinity for the macabre.

At the same time, you are curious how your own perception of horror may have changed. After all, you’ve lived through many horrors yourself, from escaping zombies to burning alive, from being abducted to being tortured for science, as well as other things that you have tried your damn best to repress from your memories. You’ve seen real, living people be ripped apart to shreds, impaled and crushed and pulverized. You’ve felt the warmth of their blood as it splatters across your body. And throughout all that, you managed to contain the contents of your stomach and only cry a little bit. Well, maybe you cried a lot and couldn’t even stand from shock. But you still like to think you handled it pretty well considering how bad it all was.

Have you become desensitized to watching horrors befall others, allowing you to watch the most disturbing of scenes without even blinking an eye? Or has horror become so personalized that you’ll break down at the first sign of danger in even the tamest of films? Unfortunately, your desire for answers will not make a television magically appear in the living room, so you will just have to save your questions for another day.

With the severe lack of movies, you find yourself occupied with your mate instead. Your typical weekday routine is to wake up, shower, make breakfast, go to work, come home, make dinner, and then spend time with Nemesis before bed. Lately that time has been spent teaching him how to read using the plethora of books you checked out at the library. It’s a little strange, if not hilarious, to watch a grown man study such basic reading material. It is also quite the challenge to teach him to read when he cannot pronounce the words aloud, which is how most children learn the skill. You instead sound out the words for him, then allow him to read in his head, after which he will indicate any words that he was unable to remember. It is a slow process, but you’re determined to teach, and he’s determined to learn.

After just a few weeks he is able to read through all of the books you’ve given him without help, and at that point you figure you should teach him how to write. The first challenge you encounter is that his hand is simply too big to wield a normal writing utensil comfortably. Thus, you find yourself at the dollar store purchasing one of those novelty foot-long pencils. Much to your surprise, it works, although it looks just as strange and hilarious as you would expect. He quickly learns how to write your name and his, as well as common words from the books you gave him. His handwriting is nothing to gawk at, but it is more legible than you expected, so you can’t complain. He is left handed, which you suppose you could have deduced based on how he wields various weapons.

Tonight, however, you are tempted to take a break from all the reading and writing practice. It’s Friday the 13th, after all, and that’s close enough to a holiday in your book. Besides, you and Nemesis have been so focused on literature all week, you’ve failed to tend to _other_ important needs. And now that you’re back on the pill, you can finally go all-out. The temptation is too much to bear, and that’s how you find yourself laying across Nemesis’ body on the sofa, with you wearing nothing but your bra and underwear and him wearing nothing but some boxer briefs. You have no doubt that you’ll soon be wearing nothing at all, but you don’t want to rush, as you are in the mood for something slower tonight.

You sit with your thighs straddling his torso and your arms wrapped around his neck. He in turn rests one hand on your upper back and one hand on your ass. You lovingly cover his face and neck with kisses, taking your time to give every inch of skin the attention that it deserves. His hand tightly clutches your ass and he quietly groans when your last kiss on his neck turns into a light sucking. Good to know he still gets turned on by hickeys. You suck harder, drawing more pleasured groans out of your mate until you are satisfied.

“I love the sounds you make for me,” you whisper against his skin, and he growls seductively before swiping his tongue across your neck. Over your last few love-making sessions he has proven himself to be quite skilled with this muscular appendage, experimenting with both licking and his version of kissing. You shudder and whimper as the warmth glides across your skin, imagining what that tongue would feel like inside of you.

You watch Nemesis pull his head back and make a show of slowly licking his teeth, which succeeds in drawing you in for a tongue-centric kiss. Your lips press against his teeth as your tongue finds its way into his mouth. His much larger tongue circles around yours with impressive dexterity, and you savor his taste. You find your entire body moving with the kiss, your hips pressing down against him and your hands caressing the back of his head. He continues to squeeze your ass, encouraging you to give yourself up to his passionate tongue. You eventually draw away, desperate for breath, and you feel him panting beneath you as well.

You run a hand along the side of his face, taking him in visually. The first time you saw his face, your nearly screamed in horror. Now you can hardly draw your eyes away from him, appreciating every last detail of his appearance. You’ve learned to love his glistening teeth, his scarred and mangled skin, but your favorite part of him is his eye, that single white sphere that practically glows with expression. You could lose yourself in that piercingly featureless gaze.

“You’re stunning,” you say as you caress the tattered skin of his cheek. You lean in to kiss along his face some more, and he closes his eye to focus solely on the feeling of your soft lips against his rough skin. You gradually begin to scoot your body backward as you kiss down his jaw, then his neck, then his collarbone, and finally his chest, where you decide to linger for a little while. You feel his body vibrate beneath you as he purrs, and you decide to rest your ear on his chest for a moment to listen to his heartbeat. You’ve always heard that your heart is as big as your fist, so his heart must be gigantic, tirelessly pumping warm viral blood through his massive body, filling him with life. The sound causes you to feel an overwhelming connection to him. Both of you are just creatures fueled by blood, living for physical and emotional fulfillment. As you home in on your own pulse, you contemplate how you and him really aren’t so different.

You continue your descent down his body until you are straddling his crotch. You can feel him through the thin fabric separating your bodies, already hard from arousal. You grind against him, and he growls with anticipation. He brushes his hands up and down your sides, then moves them down to massage your thighs, easing you out of any remaining tension and preparing you for whenever you decide to take him in. You feel yourself melting at his gentle stroking of your body, and your entire core aches with need.

You reach your hands under you until you feel the hem of his briefs. You take the fabric in your fingers and gently pull them, inching them down his thighs, then his calves, and eventually over his feet. You toss the material to the floor and turn to look at the genitals that await your attention. Your hand moves beyond his cock and gently takes hold of one of his testicles. The first time you actually went out of your way to observe them, you almost couldn’t believe how massive they were. You supposed it made sense based on how much he filled you whenever he came. Still, you always find yourself amazed by them every time you see them. You carefully run your thumb along the oddly textured flesh, and his cock twitches eagerly in response to your touch.

Nemesis moves his hands aside so that you can slip out of your own underwear. You reach behind your back and snap off your bra for good measure. You might as well be comfortable if you’re spending the night in. Both undergarments are discarded onto the floor before you reach down to feel yourself and realize you are soaked with arousal. You lean back and stick out your pelvis, using your fingers to spread yourself apart for his viewing pleasure.

“Look at what you do to me,” you say as you swipe a finger along your wet folds. Nemesis growls at the evidence of his effect on you. He removes one hand from your body and brings a thumb to your swollen clit, earning him a satisfied groan as he applies carefully calculated pressure to the sensitive bud. You roll your hips against his hand, drowning in the euphoria of his surprisingly gentle touch. “Mmh… You’re so good to me…” you murmur.

“Mates,” Nemesis purrs endearingly as he moves both his hands to hold you by the waist and guide you toward his cock. You place your comparatively small hands over his.

“Yes…” you whisper. “My mate…”

The feeling of his cock brushing against your folds sends a shiver down your spine. You reach down and touch yourself, covering your hand with your wetness. You then wrap your fingers around his cock and begin to spread the lubrication along his shaft, readying him to enter you. He growls at your touch, longing to feel your tight walls clenching around him, but he patiently waits until you are ready. He knows that there will be a time and a place to mount and dominate you later. For now, he is content to let you take the lead.

You align with his cock and slowly begin to lower yourself, supported by his strong hands. You take all of him in just one fluid motion, and you sigh contently at the feeling of him filling you entirely. You take a moment to just sit there and bask in the fullness, clenching your walls around his cock to signal how good he makes you feel. He growls and twitches inside you in response, his fingers digging harder into your hips. You don’t have to do much work in this position, since Nemesis is strong enough to easily lift your entire body without a second thought. He moves you upward until only the head of his cock is still inside you, then pushes you down again to fill you back up. You moan as he repeats the motion, pumping your body up and down his cock that rubs pleasantly against your inner walls.

You feel a tentacle snake across your body until it reaches your clit, which it begins to shower with merciless attention. Your entire body shivers as another tentacle begins to caress one of your nipples. “Oh, f-fuck, Nemesis,” you stammer senselessly as your head rolls back limply. “You’re amazing…” Your loud moans mix with his grunts and growls in a cacophony of pleasure. With him stimulating you everywhere you can imagine, it isn’t long before you feel the hot pressure of an orgasm building up within you. You try to fight it off as long as you can, wanting to draw out this intimate moment as long as possible, but your body can only take so much before it caves. Pleasure crashes over you as you come, your thighs clenching tightly around Nemesis’ body and your walls clenching tightly around his cock. He growls at the sensation and begins to move your body more slowly and tactfully to draw out your orgasm as long as possible.

Your body finally relaxes, and you struggle to stay upright as Nemesis returns to fucking you fast and hard in pursuit of his own release. You ache from the overstimulation, but you allow him to use you as he needs. After another minute or so, you feel his grip on you tighten, and he shoves you down hard onto his cock with a roar. You moan quietly as he comes inside you, filling you with the thick, warm cum that you’ve grown to crave. He holds you down for a while, making sure to fill you with every last drop before lifting you up. You look down and watch as the off-white fluid drips out of you and onto his stomach.

Nemesis gently lays you across his chest with a satisfied purr and rests a hand on your lower back, and you wrap your arms around him. “I’m so glad to have you as my mate,” you whisper, and Nemesis rumbles happily. You close your eyes and focus on the sound of his heartbeat again. “I love you…”

_Knock knock knock._

You and Nemesis both tense at the sound of someone knocking at your front door. You glance at the clock to see that it is nine in the evening. Who in their right mind would be knocking at your door this late at night?

_Knock knock knock._

You groan as you roll off Nemesis’ chest and onto the floor. You pick up his boxer briefs and shove them toward him. “Go hide in the bedroom and clean yourself up. I’ll see who it is.” Nemesis grumbles with concern. “Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anything happens and then you can come out and rescue me.”

_BANG BANG BANG!_

You jump at the aggressive pounding on the door. Who could possibly be so desperate for you to answer? “Calm down, I’m coming!” you shout. You quickly throw on your underwear and bra, not bothering with the rest of your clothes since you probably won’t even need to open the door more than a crack. By now Nemesis has disappeared into the back of the house, and you hope and pray he will actually listen to you and stay out of sight this time. You walk over to the door, making a mental note to have a peephole installed. You undo the lock and open the door slightly. “Who is it?” you ask with a hint of annoyance.

“(Y/n)! Let me in!” It’s Jenna. She sounds incredibly shaken.

“Jenna?” you say. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Please, (y/n), just let me in! I think I’m being followed!”

Oh, great. She’s being followed and led whoever is following her right to you. The last thing you want to do is invite her into your house. Still, she’s your friend now whether you like it or not, and you can’t just leave her out there with some creepy stalker. With a sigh, you open the door all the way to allow her inside. “Alright, get in.” She stumbles in, barely able to stand, and you close and lock the door behind her. When you turn around you see that she is hardly able to breathe.

“I-I’m so sorry to just show up like this, I was just…” She trails off as a huge blush spreads across her face, and you realize you’re still wearing nothing but a bra and underwear.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you’ve never seen a body before,” you say.

“W-what happened to you?”

You realize she’s staring at your scars. “Never mind that. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Uh, r-right.” Jenna blinks the shock out of her eyes. “I was just leaving my evening class on campus and I thought this dude was following me. I saw him get in a van in the same parking lot I was in, and when I started to drive home, I noticed the van was following me. I drove all around town trying to shake him off, but he wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t go home because the rest of my family is out this evening and I didn’t want to be alone. And you’re the only other person I know, so I came here.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “So your first instinct when being followed was to drive to the house of your friend, who lives alone in an area that is completely isolated from society, instead of just pulling into the police station parking lot?” Jenna stares at you blankly.

“Oh…”

_SLAM!_

Jenna jumps at the sound of a car door slamming shut outside. “Oh my god, he’s out there!” she whispers. “Turn the lights off!”

“He already knows we’re in here,” you say as you walk toward the kitchen. “It won’t do any good.”

“W-where are you going?” Jenna asks.

“To get a knife,” you respond.

Jenna curls in on herself and rocks back and forth on the floor, trying not to hyperventilate. “Oh my god, I’m gonna die, and now you’re gonna die too and it’s all my fault for being so stupid!”

You return from the kitchen with the biggest knife you own. “Don’t worry, all the doors and windows are locked. We’re not going to die.”

Jenna gawks at you. “How are you staying so calm!?”

You sit down on the floor next to her. “Trust me, I’ve seen some shit. Nothing scares me anymore.”

_BANG!_

This time you jump alongside Jenna at the sound of something heavy hitting the front door. She reaches over and wraps her arms tightly around you as she starts crying. “Jenna, let go, I can’t use the knife with you strangling me like tha-“

_BANG!_

This time, the door splinters slightly. Jenna’s grip around you tightens as she chokes out a loud sob, and the reality of the situation dawns upon you. This guy is going to break down your door and try to kill the two of you. You aren’t scared, but it isn’t because you’ve been through worse. It isn’t even because you have a knife. It’s because of Nemesis.

“Jenna, listen to me,” you say. “I can keep us alive, but you have to do exactly as I say. That guy is going to break the door down. As soon as that door flies open, I need you to scream.”

“W-what?” Jenna asks through her tears.

“I need you to scream as long and loud as you can, Jenna,” you say. “And then I need you to stay on the ground. You have to lay on the ground and close your eyes, and don’t even think about opening them until I say it’s okay. I don’t care what you hear. I don’t care what you feel. You have to stay on the floor and keep your eyes closed. Do you understand?”

_BANG!_

“But why?” Jenna sobs.

“Jenna, you just have to trust me.”

She stares at you, analyzing you, before she finally nods. “O-okay. I trust you.”

_BANG!_

The door flies open revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man in black sweatpants and a black hoodie clutching a knife at least three times the size of yours. And just as you commanded, Jenna jams her eyes shut, throws herself onto the floor, and wails like a banshee.

_SLAM!_

You simply sit there calmly as you hear the bedroom door slam open, followed by angry stomping down the hallway. You watch the intruder’s shadowed face turn from threatening to confused to terrified before a tentacle shoots out from behind you and impales the man through the chest with a loud squelch. His knife clatters to the floor as he looks down at the fleshy pink tendril skewering his body with a look of horror. Nemesis lets out an enraged roar that shakes the entire house before the tentacle throws the man carelessly onto the floor. He writhes and grasps at the hole in his chest, gurgling on his own blood before ceasing his movements altogether. The room is now silent aside from Nemesis’ heavy panting and Jenna’s quiet sobs.

Nemesis turns to look at Jenna and reaches out to grab her. “No, leave her,” you quickly say. “She’s a friend.” Nemesis stops and looks at you before backing off with a quiet growl.

“W-who else is there?” Jenna asks fearfully.

“Don’t open your ey-“

You watch with horror as Jenna’s eyes shoot open and scan the room, landing right on Nemesis, who thankfully listened to you and put on his boxer briefs while he was in the bedroom. “Jenna, don’t-“

Jenna’s mouth shoots open in a horrified scream. She starts to scurry backward on her butt in a desperate attempt to put some distance between herself and what she surely sees as a horrifying monster, but she ends up cornered against the wall.

You quickly crawl over to her and throw a hand over her mouth to silence her. “Jenna, oh my god, shut up!” She simply whimpers into your hand while she shakes uncontrollably, eyes glued on Nemesis. You take a deep breath. “I’m going to remove my hand, and you aren’t going to scream again. Okay?” She nods tearfully, and you slowly remove your hand from her mouth. Her lip trembles, and you know she wants to shriek again, but surprisingly she resists the urge.

“W-what the fuck is that!?” she stammers.

You sit down to make yourself more comfortable. “His name is Nemesis. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you unless you give him a reason to.”

“Oh my god,” Jenna mutters. “Steve was right. This is what he saw.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She looks at you with horror. “Is it true? Do you kidnap people to feed it?”

You rub your eyes and groan. “Holy shit, Jenna, there is so much wrong about what you just said. First, no, I do not kidnap people to feed him. And second, he’s a him. Please don’t call him an it.”

“So you aren’t the campus killer?”

“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure _that’s_ the campus killer.” You point to the body laying across the room.

“Oh… oh my go-“ Jenna is cut short when she dry heaves into her hands.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a dead body getting blood everywhere,” you say nonchalantly.

Jenna takes a moment to recover, trying her best not to look in the direction of the corpse. When she speaks again, she sounds a little calmer. “Okay, so you don’t kill people. That’s good.” She points to Nemesis. “But what is it? Uh, I mean he?”

“Well, actually, he’s _technically_ a human,” you say.

“What?”

“I mean, he’s a genetically engineered human infected with a body-altering virus and being controlled by a brain parasite, but that’s close enough, right? Technically speaking he’s a bio-organic weapon, or B.O.W. if you like initialisms.”

Jenna rests her head against the wall. “This is the secret you were talking about. I thought you were just exaggerating, but you were so right when you said I wouldn’t have believed you. Oh my god.” She runs a hand nervously through her hair. “He wouldn’t happen to be the mute friend you wanted to teach sign to, would he?”

“That’s him.”

“And he doesn’t read or write?”

“Well, I actually started teaching him, and he’s learning really fast. He can already write our names and everything. And now he can read at a second-grade level, which might not seem like much, but I’m pretty damn proud.”

Jenna is silent for a moment. “Why is he in your house?”

“Uh, well…” You glance over at him. “He’s kind of… my… mate?”

Jenna stares blankly at you. “Your… mate.”

You nod, a blush creeping onto your face. “Yeah. You know, we’re partners. Significant others. Boyfriend and girlfriend. We prefer mates, but you can call it whatever, I guess.”

Jenna looks baffled. “But if you’re mates, then does that mean you…” She blushes and hastily averts her gaze toward the ceiling.

You laugh nervously. “Well, uh, we don’t normally walk around the house in nothing but our underwear without a reason, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her face turns red. “Oh my god, did I… did I interrupt something?”

You rub the back of your neck. “Actually, your timing was impeccable.”

Jenna hides her face in her hands and makes a strange sound. “Oh my god.”

“You know, you’re actually taking this pretty well,” you say.

“Everything makes sense now,” she says as she pulls her hands away from her face. “He’s why you need so many groceries. He’s why you bought all those custom clothes. He’s why you need birth control.” She looks at you with concern. “Is he why you’re missing a finger!?”

“Oh, no way!” you say. “He’d never hurt me like that. The finger is kind of a long story. See, I was being held prisoner, and they did this experiment where they tortured me, and, well, like I said, it’s a long story. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

“Prisoner? Experiments? Torture? Oh my god you really have seen shit. Who is _they_?”

You frown. “Umbrella Corporation.”

“What!?” Jenna gawks. “But they’re just a pharmaceutical company!”

You scoff. “Yeah, a pharmaceutical company that genetically engineers bioweapons like Nemesis and the T-virus that took down Raccoon City. You can’t tell anybody I know this, though. They’ll find out about Nemesis, and then… yeah, just, don’t tell anybody.”

“And what about the bloody coat you took to Edward?”

“That was Umbrella's blood,” you explain. “You know, from when they held us prisoner. There were a few lives lost during the escape. A lot of lives, actually. They had it coming, though, after everything they did to us.”

Jenna stares at the floor. “No wonder you were so pissed about people being nosy. This is a lot. How do you even live with this? With all these secrets? How does it not kill you?”

“Well, a friend once told me I’m just too stubborn to die.”

You actually see a hint of a smile on Jenna’s face, but it quickly disappears. “You’re probably going to kill me now, aren’t you?”

You look at her with confusion. “Why would I do that? I already told you I don’t kill people. I mean, he does, but only if they’re a threat.”

“Because I know everything! How do you know that I won’t tell anybody?”

“Because... you're my friend, and I trust you?”

Jenna looks at you with wide eyes, and she almost looks like she’s about to cry. “Oh.”

You push yourself up to your feet and reach out a hand to help her up. She stares at it hesitantly, but she eventually takes it and lets you pull her up. She continues to glance nervously at Nemesis, so you turn to him and wave your hand. “Hey, come here and show her there’s nothing to be scared of.”

He moves to approach. Jenna pushes herself back against the wall. “No, stop! He killed that guy! W-what if he hurts me too?”

“I promise he won’t hurt you. He won’t even touch you unless you say it’s okay.” Jenna stares with terror as Nemesis continues his approach, and she lets out a terrified squeak when he stops just a few feet away. “Nemesis, this is Jenna. She’s the one that was teaching me sign language.” Nemesis stares down at Jenna curiously. He suddenly raises both hands, and Jenna flinches before she realizes what he is doing. He points both fingers upward and moves his hands in an alternating pattern.

“Stars.”

She tenses at the sound of his strange, deep voice, then turns to you. “You… taught him the sign?”

“It’s the only one he really latched onto,” you say with a smile. “I know he could learn more, if he had a better teacher.”

“Oh.” Jenna slowly turns back to look at Nemesis. To your shock, she cautiously reaches out a hand toward him. “Uh… hello Nemesis…” He reaches a hand up to meet hers, and she flinches at the feeling of his skin, but she relaxes when she realizes he isn’t going to do anything. He growls calmly. “My god, he’s… really gentle… when he isn't killing people, at least.”

“Don’t go falling for my man, now,” you joke.

She laughs a quiet, hesitant laugh. “Oh, I mean, I, uh... You don't have to worry about that.“ She shakes her head. "Does your family know about... this?"

“Are you kidding? My parents would disown me if they found out about this.”

"Isn't that difficult for you?"

"I mean, obviously. And I'm sure it will get more difficult with time. But I've already been through hell, and I'll go through more if I have to. It's worth it." You place a hand on Nemesis’ arm, and he purrs happily before raising his hand up to caress your cheek.

Jenna watches the affectionate gesture with an odd look in her eye. “You’re really close, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you know, we’ve saved each other’s lives a few times, made love a lot, so I guess we’ve grown on each other,” you say with a shrug. As if to prove your point, Nemesis leans down and nuzzles his face into your neck. You push him away with a laugh. “Ugh, not in front of Jenna!” He growls defiantly.

Jenna twists her hands around each other. “If you two grew so close when he can’t even verbally communicate, then… what would it be like if he could?”

“It would be nice,” you say simply. “It would be really fucking nice.”

“Well, my previous offer still stands. I’d like to try teaching him to sign.”

You look at Jenna with surprise. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” she says with a nervous smile. “I mean, you’re still my friend, and he saved my life, and you two are actually kind of cute together? In, like, a really messed up kind of way?” She shakes her head. “What I’m trying to say is, I want to help you out.”

You can’t stop yourself from beaming from ear to ear. “Jenna, you’re unbelievable.”

“Do you want to keep our Tuesdays after four schedule? I could just drive myself up here instead of meeting you at the library.”

“Sounds perfect,” you say. “Really, we can’t thank you enough for trying this. This will literally change our lives.”

“I’m happy to do it, really.” Jenna glances over at the body, but she quickly looks away again. “What are you gonna do about him though?”

You sigh. “Well, optimally I’d just dump the body somewhere, but that leaves the issue of the van in my driveway. And I’d feel bad not giving closure to all the families of his previous victims. So I’ll probably call the police.”

“What?” Jenna looks genuinely concerned. “But what about Nemesis?”

“I mean, they shouldn’t have to search the whole house, right? Everything happened here in the living room. He can just hide in the bedroom again.”

“But how are you going to explain the gaping hole in the guy’s chest?”

You stare at the body. “Uh… I had a really big knife. And I stabbed him a whole bunch and twisted it around a lot.”

Jenna looks simultaneously amused and grossed out. “And you’re sure that’ll work?”

“I have you as a witness, right?”

Jenna smiles. “Big knife, twisted around a lot. Got it.”

“See? I can count on you. Everything will be fine.”

She looks outside through the still-open door with a frown, and you follow her gaze. “My family said they were just going to the movies, so they should be back at my house in another hour or so. Um, would it be okay if I stayed here for a little longer? I kind of don’t want to go home by myself, and I should probably stay anyway since I’m a witness.”

“We don’t mind at all,” you say. “You’re in on the secret now, so our home is your home.” You lean into Nemesis, who wraps his arms around you protectively. Even though you managed to keep your cool throughout this entire experience, you can’t ignore the fact that you are immensely troubled. Jenna knows everything, and even though you trust her not to tell anybody, you don’t want her getting hurt in the crossfire if Umbrella ever gets involved with you again. On top of that, you have to deal with the police without them finding out about your secrets, and your name is definitely going to be on record somewhere. You sigh into Nemesis’ chest.

Who knew falling in love with a bioweapon would be so fucking complicated?


	7. Give Thanks

_Thursday, November 26, 1998 – Thanksgiving Day_

It has been almost two weeks since the incident with the campus killer, and much to your surprise, life seems to finally be giving you a break. The police came to your house and bombarded you with questions, but you refused to say anything without a lawyer present, and Jenna picked up the hint and did the same. The body was hauled away, and you and Jenna were escorted to the police station. Thankfully Jenna’s family had a good attorney who made it very clear that the murder had been an act of self-defense. The background checks of everyone involved helped support your case as well; the man already had a criminal record involving drugs and robbery, and neither you nor Jenna had any criminal history, not even traffic violations. After an investigation of the man’s home, it turned out that he kept extensive records of his victims, almost like he was flaunting each kill. He was linked to each and every one of the campus murders over the last few months. You told the police that you and Jenna wished to remain anonymous in the media coverage for your own safety, and they agreed that this would be for the best. The last thing you wanted was for your name to show up on the news, alerting a certain Corporation of your location.

Jenna’s family was extremely moved by the event. Her parents thanked you profusely for helping to defend their daughter, then got Steve to put together an extensive security system for their home. Steve was livid that Jenna had been in your house. Jenna told you about how he interrogated her, asking her about what she had seen. She denied seeing anything at all, much to Steve’s frustration. You felt bad making Jenna lie; she and her brother seemed to be close and held very few secrets from one another. Still, you and Jenna both knew that it was for the best.

As if that wasn’t enough to put Steve on edge, Jenna told him about how she would be visiting your house every Tuesday to teach you ASL. He just about exploded, insisting that you were manipulative and dangerous and that she would surely die if she kept getting closer to you. He tried to convince her to let him make her a hidden tracker or microphone in case something happened, but she refused to indulge his paranoia. Her parents, on the other hand, trusted you more than anyone at this point, and she was quickly granted permission to visit your home every week.

Nemesis’ capacity for sign language increased exponentially with Jenna as his teacher. What little you failed to teach him in several weeks, she was able to teach him in several hours. Jenna’s apprehension was quite noticeable at first. She would flinch whenever Nemesis made any sudden movements or sounds, and she always kept her distance. You couldn’t blame her; her first impression of him was him murdering someone, and his appearance alone was a lot to take in. By the end of the second lesson, however, she had already warmed up to him significantly, even going so far as to touch his hands to help him form more difficult signs correctly. It made you strangely happy to see her treating him so normally.

During your last lesson, Jenna mentioned that Thursday was Thanksgiving. In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about the holiday. For the last several years you had flown or driven to see your parents for Thanksgiving dinner, but for some reason they hadn’t contacted you about it this year. Plus, with all the chaos of the last few months, preparing a big meal was the last thing on your mind. When you told Jenna that you didn’t have any plans, she was quick to invite you to her house for Thanksgiving, stating that her parents would be delighted to have you over. You politely declined her offer, firstly because you didn’t want to incite any drama with her brother, and secondly because you thought it would be appropriate to spend the family-oriented holiday with your mate. She was very understanding, although a bit disappointed, and you could tell she was more than a little pissed at her brother for being one of your reasons to stay away.

Now that Thanksgiving has arrived, you are surprisingly content that your parents didn’t contact you to make plans with them. Travelling several states over is the last thing you want to do right now. Still, you can’t help but ponder how unlike your parents it is to just drop off the radar around an important family holiday. You’ve spoken to them several times on the phone since moving into the cabin, but you are always very reserved in talking about your personal life, so maybe they just assume you want some space to recover from your recent traumas.

Part of you feels bad for inadvertently pushing away the people that you care about. Sure, your parents have their issues, as all parents do. Your father is overbearing and strict, unafraid to speak his opinion even when it isn’t wanted, attempting to mold you into what he thinks a successful member of society looks like. Your mother is the complete opposite, emotional and supportive of you adventuring out into the world to become your own individual but failing to stand up to your father. You think you turned out to be pretty successful; you owned a business for a while, piled up significant savings, and now you have your own place, not to mention you survived the apocalypse. Your parents must have done something right for you to get here, you suppose.

While cuddling on the sofa with your mate after practicing your signs that afternoon, it occurs to you that you should give your parents a call to wish them a happy Thanksgiving. Even if you do want some space, you don’t want them to think you’ve forgotten about them. Nemesis gives you a disgruntled grumble as you remove yourself from his arms to stand up.

“Oh calm down, I’m just gonna give my parents a quick call,” you say as you walk over to the phone. He settles back down on the sofa with a huff, and you shake your head at his impatience. You pick up the phone and dial your parents’ home number. The phone rings for a good minute or so before anyone answers.

“Hello-“ your father’s voice rings out.

“Hey Dad, it’s m-“

“We are sorry, but we are unable to answer the phone right now. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Oh, it’s just the answering machine recording your father made. Your parents should be home right now, your mother preparing Thanksgiving dinner and your father watching the football game. Why aren’t they answering? You sigh and wait for the answering machine to beep and record your message.

“Hey Mom, hey Dad, it’s me, (y/n). I was just calling to wish you a happy Thanksgiving. I know this is the first Thanksgiving ever where we haven’t seen each other, so I just wanted to let you know that I really miss you and I-“

_Knock knock knock._

You pause at the sound of someone knocking at the front door. “Uh, I’m sorry, I gotta go. There’s someone at my door. Give me a call back, okay? Love you, bye.” You hang up the phone. Who could possibly be knocking at your door on a holiday? You walk over to the door, thankful that you got a new one with a peephole installed. You look through the tiny glass hole to see who is outside, and your jaw nearly hits the floor from shock. “No no no no no-“ You spin around to face Nemesis, and he can immediately tell that something is wrong by the look on your face. You point frantically to the hallway. “Go hide in the bedroom and don’t come out until I tell you to. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

You clearly mean business, so Nemesis doesn’t bother to stop and comfort you, instead opting to head straight back to the bedroom. You wait until you hear the door close behind him before turning back around to face the front door.

_Knock knock knock._

You simply stare at the door, frozen to the spot. “This can’t be happening,” you mutter to yourself. “Why me? Why today?” Eventually you muster the courage to reach out and unlock the door. You feared this day would come eventually, but you had no idea it would be so soon. You open the door.

“Surprise! Happy Thanksgiving, (y/n)!”

It’s your parents.

“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” you manage to say as they push their way through the doorframe and into the living room carrying several containers of what you can only assume is food based on their delicious fragrance.

Your mother turns to you with a smile. “Well, your father and I know how stressful these last few months have been on you, and we figured the last thing you would want to do is pack up and travel across the country, so we thought we’d do the packing and drive to you instead!”

“Wow, how… thoughtful,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that. Really, you didn’t. Uh, why didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming?”

“That would have ruined the surprise, silly!” your mother says.

“Where the kitchen?” your father butts in with his deep, assertive voice. “Your mother cooked you lots of food.”

“Uh, it’s through here,” you say as you lead them through the entryway to the kitchen.

“Oh, wait until you see what all I made,” your mother says. “I brought a turkey, some mashed potatoes, those dinner rolls your grandmother always used to make, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and your favorite, pumpkin pie!” You watch as she and your father arrange the food containers along the countertop. “You’ll have leftovers for days, too!”

“Oh, uh, thanks Mom,” you say despite knowing that leftovers never last long in your house. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

Once her arms are free of food, your mother suddenly turns to you looking like she’s about to cry. She rushes toward you and hugs you, and you awkwardly hug her back as she practically sobs into your shoulder. “Oh, (y/n), I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Mom, I-“

Before you can finish, she pulls away and grabs your wrist. “Let me see what you… my god, you weren’t lying about your finger…” She sobs again and pulls you into another hug. “My poor baby, disfigured like that, it’s so awful to think about.”

You pull yourself away from the hug. “It’s fine, Mom. I’m not, uh, disfigured.”

“She’s right,” your father pipes in. “It’s not a disfigurement, it’s a battle scar. Shows how strong our girl is, surviving out there when the going gets tough. Shows how good we raised her.”

Your mother quickly pulls herself together. “I suppose so. It’s still so sad, though.”

Already bored from this conversation, your father begins to pace around your kitchen, opening the cupboards like he owns the place. “It’ll be a while before dinner time. How about a house tour?”

“Uh, sure?” You wring your hands together nervously. Knowing your father, not a single detail in this house will go unnoticed. He’ll look in every drawer, every nook and cranny, silently judging every aspect of your lifestyle. You know he’s just trying to make sure you’re doing alright, but you can’t help but seethe at the breach of privacy. You never had privacy as a kid, and now even as an adult you aren’t being granted that luxury. No matter what, though, you aren’t going to let him in the bedroom, regardless of what it takes. You lean against the kitchen table. “Well, this is the kitchen slash dining room,” you declare. “Not much to see here.”

“It’s very cute,” your mother says as she toys with the dish towels hanging on the oven.

“Your cupboards are well stocked,” your father adds after snooping around in the final cabinet. “Lots of dishes and silverware for just one person.”

“Oh, well, a couple used to own this place, remember?” you say. “They gave it to me fully furnished, so this is all their old stuff.”

“Hm, I see.” Your father exits the kitchen into the living room, and you and your mother follow closely behind.

“This is the living room,” you say as you walk to the center of the room. “As you can see, it’s a very cozy living space. The furniture is very comfortable, and the fireplace-“

“Where’s the television?” your father interrupts.

“Oh, uh, it didn’t come with one.”

Your father looks visibly irritated. “How am I supposed to watch the game?”

“Oh, honey, you know I set the VCR to record it back home,” your mother says while placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you can survive one Thanksgiving without football.”

“What do you even do with your time without a television?” he asks you while his eyes meticulously scan the room.

“Well, I spend a lot of time with that friend I told you about.”

“Jessica, right?” your mother asks.

“Jenna,” you correct. “I also read a lot.”

Your father strides over to the end table and picks something up. “I hope you’re reading more challenging material than this,” he scoffs.

The blood drains from your face when you realize he is holding one of the library books you’ve been using to teach Nemesis how to read. You laugh it off and snatch the book from his hands. “Of course I am. What do I look like, a second-grader?”

Your mother approaches as well and examines the pile of books on the table. “Why do you have all these low level books?”

“Uh, it’s for… Jenna’s cousin. Yeah, her little cousin visits town a lot and so she brings him over sometimes, and I try to keep things around to entertain him.”

Before you can stop him, your father grabs the notebook sitting beside the books and starts to flip through. “Is this his handwriting practice or something?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

“Hm. It’s decent for a kid. He writes some big words, too. Like _nemesis_. That’s impressive. Why does he write about you so much, though?”

You grab the notebook from your father’s hands and slam it back onto the table. “How about we move on to the rest of the house, hm?” As you walk down the hallway, you point to a door. “That’s the main closet. You can go ahead and put your coats in there if you want, make yourselves more comfortable.”

This successfully draws away your parents' attention. Your father opens the door, gawks for a moment, then turns to look at you with a stern expression. “Young lady, is that a gun?”

“What? I don’t own a-“ You peek around the door to find him pointing to a large object leaning against the wall of the closet.

“Well?” he asks with an impatient tap of his foot.

“Uh, that’s not a gun,” you say. “It’s obviously too big to be a gun. Why would you even think that’s a gun? Pssht.”

“Then what is it?”

You run your hands nervously through your hair. “…A rocket launcher?”

He glares at you like he can’t tell if you’re joking. Your mother simply shrinks back, sensing trouble from her husband. “I raised you with the understanding that weapons are dangerous and unnecessary in the household. So why the ever-loving _fuck_ do you own a rocket launcher?”

“Language, dear,” your mother whispers, only to be harshly shushed.

“I mean, I don’t have ammunition for it or anything,” you say.

Your father splutters incoherently. “Then why do you own it?”

“It belongs to a friend,” you say, which isn’t entirely a lie.

“What kind of friends are you hanging out with that leave rocket launchers in your closet?” he shouts.

You struggle to keep up with your father’s constant beratement. “Hunting friends?”

Your father looks like he’s about to have a stroke. “Who hunts with a rocket launcher!?”

“My friends, apparently.” Your father opens his mouth to yell at you again, so you quickly cut him off. “Listen, this friend happened to save my life with this rocket launcher, so if anything, you should be thankful that it exists in the first place and stop worrying about why I have it. And I can’t hurt myself with it because, like I said, it doesn’t have any ammunition! And where am I supposed to get rocket launcher ammunition in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere, Oregon, hm?”

Your father stares at you with astonishment, and you can’t blame him. You never raise your voice to him. You watch as he struggles to find words but continuously fails. Eventually, your mother gently grabs his shoulder. “Let’s just move on with the house tour?” she suggests.

Your father lets out a frustrated sigh. “Okay. Okay, let’s continue. We can talk about this later.”

Relieved to have him drop the subject, you wait for your parents to hang up their coats before continuing down the hallway. You point to a door on the left. “This here is the guest bedroom.”

“Oh, so this is where we’ll be sleeping!” your mother says excitedly as she steps through the door.

Your stomach drops. “You mean you’re staying the night?”

“Of course!” your mother says as she pushes down on the mattress to test its softness. “We didn’t drive across the country just to see you for a few hours! We want to spend the entire weekend with you! Both of us already took off work. We just left our luggage in the trunk of the car is all. We’ll bring it in after dinner.” Meanwhile your father has started opening all the dresser drawers, surely searching for any more questionable possessions.

“That’s great!” you hiss through your teeth. “Just great!”

“Alright, what’s next?” you father says as he closes the last of the dresser drawers. He still sounds on edge from the rocket launcher fiasco.

“Uh, here, the bathroom is across the hall.” You lead them into the bathroom and realize too late that your mirror is still shattered.

“What happened to the mirror?” your father asks plainly.

“Uh, it was like that when I moved in.”

Your father shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What kind of losers sell a house with a broken mirror?”

“They are not losers,” you reply sternly. “They are going to sell me a fully furnished house for less than the market value, and they have been nothing but kind in all my communications with them.”

“How do you do your hair in the morning without a mirror?” your mother asks.

“I just wing it?”

Your father frowns and looks you over. “Presentation is the predecessor to success. Clearly you’ve forgotten this.”

Now you’re just getting angry. “Dad, I literally wasn’t planning on going anywhere today, and I certainly wasn’t expecting guests. Why would I bother to make myself look presentable just to stay inside alone?” Your father ignores you and starts opening drawers and cabinets, and you fume internally. He’s always been critical of you, but he’s particularly out of sorts today. You wonder if he’s irritated at your lack of openness and communication over the last few months. Even if he is, his behavior strikes you as unwarranted and excessive.

“Your shower is so fancy,” your mother says in an attempt to distract from the disagreement. “I’ve never seen a shower so roomy.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great,” you say as you walk back out into the hallway. You wait for your parents to finish looking around and follow you. “Well, that’s the house! It’s honestly way more comfortable than I expected, and I-“

“What about that room?” Your father points to the closed door at the end of the hallway.

“Oh, uh, that’s my bedroom,” you say.

“Aren’t you going to show it to us?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, knowing this isn’t going to go over well. “Actually, no, I wasn’t planning on it.”

Your father cocks an eyebrow. “Why not? I thought this was supposed to be a house tour.”

“Well, it’s kind of a mess right now,” you say. “There’s dirty laundry everywhere, and I haven’t made the bed, and it’s just rather embarrassing and I’d rather you didn’t see it in this condition.”

“We don’t care about a messy bed,” your mother says politely. Your father is less cordial.

“I taught you to always make your bed and fold your clothes,” he scolds as he scoots past you toward the door.

You quickly slide in front of the door to block him. “Well, the other reason I don’t want to show you is that I’d like to establish some boundaries.”

“…Boundaries?” Your father looks at you with a dead expression.

“Yeah, boundaries. I never had a lot of privacy growing up, and I think that this would be a good exercise to practice respecting my privacy.”

“You shouldn’t need privacy unless you’re hiding something,” your father says.

“That’s not true,” you argue. “Privacy is a basic human right, and I think all parents should respect their adult children’s requests for privacy.”

Your father glares at you. “(Y/n), stop being ridiculous. As your parents, we have the right to know everything going on in your life.”

“That sounds really unhealthy-“ you start, but you stop when your father reaches past you toward the doorknob. Without thinking, you raise your hand and smack his arm away as hard as you can, resulting in an audible slap and a red mark on his skin. You freeze when you realize what you’ve done, staring into your father’s eyes as they slowly fill with disbelief and rage.

“Did… did you just hit me, young lady?”

Any sense of self-preservation flies out the window as you are filled with your own building sense of rage. “Yeah, I did! And I’ll do it again if you don’t start respecting the rules I’ve established in my own house!”

You’ve never seen your father’s face so red, and you don’t doubt that he wants to beat your ass for disrespecting him, but to your shock, he instead lets out a heavy breath. You notice him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, as if trying to contain himself. “Okay, you know what? Fine. You’re right. You deserve some fucking privacy. It’s not like you’ve already taken plenty of that already. You still haven’t told us what happened between September 28th and October 6th. You didn’t even call us to let us know you were alive until you had been in the hospital for _four days_! You haven’t even told us how you lost your finger, for god’s sake. But you still want more privacy! That’s fine! That’s dandy! God fucking forbid your parents know anything about you surviving the fucking apocalypse!”

“Dad, listen, I-“

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Let’s just go eat dinner.”

“It’s still pretty early to ea-“ your mother starts.

“I said let’s go eat dinner!” your father loudly interrupts before marching back down the hallway toward the kitchen.

You glance at your mother, who appears to be at a loss for words. “Mom, I-“

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” you mother says sadly. “Your father is just worried about you. It’s okay if you want to have your privacy, but… just know that you can tell us anything.” You highly doubt that, but you don’t tell her that, so you simply nod and head toward the kitchen, your mother following closely behind.

Dinner is incredibly awkward. Most of the food has gotten cold from your parents’ long cross-country drive, so you have to microwave everything, resulting in the familiar chewy texture of reheated food. Despite this, everything tastes good, and you politely thank your mother for going out of her way to cook such a large meal for the three of you. You and your mother exchange small talk about your jobs and your friends while your father sits silently and shovels food into his mouth. The fact that you’ll have to put up with him this entire weekend makes you feel sick with anxiety. Is he really going to respect your request to stay out of the bedroom? Maybe you should tell Nemesis to lock the door just in case. But you can’t possibly ask your mate to stay in that one room by himself for the entire weekend, especially when this is a holiday where you should be spending time with loved ones, and he most certainly counts as a loved one. Probably more so than your parents, at this point, considering how disrespectful they have been of your space.

Your father sets his fork down on his empty plate with a clatter before standing abruptly. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to use the restroom.” You tense in your seat as he leaves the kitchen. Following him to the bathroom would be weird, but you don’t trust him not to snoop in the forbidden room without your strict supervision.

Your mother must sense your unease, because she reaches out and places a hand over yours. “You got your point across, (y/n). He isn’t going to look.”

“I doubt anyone can get their point across to a man like that,” you argue.

“He’s a good father,” you mother says. “He raised you well.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I can’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” you mutter.

Your exchange is quickly interrupted by the sound of your father stomping back into the kitchen. He couldn’t possibly have used the restroom that quickly. Before you can turn to look at him, you feel his hand grab your shoulder and yank you out of your seat. “Dad, what are you do-“

“What the fuck is this?”

You stare wide-eyed at him as he holds something in front of your face. Your eyes focus on the object in his fingers, and you quickly snatch it from him. “Dad! What the fuck!? Were you digging through my fucking trash!?”

“What’s going on?” your mother asks.

“It’s nothi-“

“I found a fucking pregnancy test!” your father snarls.

Your mother’s face flushes. “What?” She turns to you with wide eyes. “You’re pregnant and you didn’t tell us?”

You groan. “No, Mom, I’m not pregnant. It was a negative.”

“This is fucking unbelievable,” your father spouts. “You won’t tell us anything that’s going on in your life, you have weapons in your house, and now you’re being promiscuous!?”

“I’m not being promiscuous!” you shout. “And even if I was sleeping around, my sex life is none of your god damned business!”

“Does that mean you’re going steady with someone?” your mother asks quietly.

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean… ugh! It’s complicated!”

“Do you realize how much having a kid out of wedlock will fuck your life up!?” your father practically screams. “Have you forgotten literally everything I’ve engrained into you?”

Your mother looks like she’s about to cry again. “Complicated or not, why wouldn’t you tell us that there’s someone in your life?”

“You wouldn’t understa-“ you start, but your father cuts you off again.

“I can’t believe we drove all this way just to be disrespected and humiliated by our own daughter!”

You clench your hands angrily. “ _You’re_ being disrespected and humiliated? What about me? You literally dug through my trash!” You tug at your hair. “Maybe you’re the reason I don’t tell anyone anything! Maybe you’re the reason I’m such a fucking mess with trust issues! Maybe you should just get the fuck out of my house!”

Your ears ring and your eyes water as your father’s hand slaps you across the face hard enough to knock you to the ground. Your mother’s hands shoot up to her mouth with horror, tears streaming down her face. Your father turns to look at her. “Go in the bathroom and clean your face up,” he says. “We’re leaving.”

“But-“

“I said go!” your father booms. Your mother jumps to her feet and scurries out of the kitchen like a frightened rabbit. The terrified look on her face is like a punch in the gut. You didn’t mean for her to feel unwelcome at all. It’s your father and his condescending attitude that are unwelcome. You glare up at him, but he is avoiding making eye contact with you, not that you care. You awkwardly shove the pregnancy test in your pocket.

You open your mouth to say something snarky, but before you get the chance, your mother’s voice echoes from the back of the house as a blood-curdling screech. Without a moment of hesitation, your father grabs the huge knife from the turkey at the center of the table and takes off out of the kitchen and toward the bathroom. You jump to your feet and follow him, only to freeze with horror. Everything seems to go in slow motion when you see that the bathroom door is closed.

And the bedroom door is open.

You watch as your mother flies out of the bedroom and stumbles frantically down the hall, apparently unharmed. “I’m sorry!” she screams to no one in particular. “That was the wrong door! That was the wrong door! Oh my god!” Your father tries to grab her by the shoulders and calm her down, but she wiggles from his grasp and bolts to the far end of the living room, leaping over the sofa to hide. Determined to find what sent your mother into such a frenzy, your father marches into the bedroom, knife in hand. The reality of the situation finally hits you, and you lurch forward toward the door.

“Dad! No! Stop!”

“Holy fuck!” you hear your father shout as you reel around the corner and into the bedroom. Standing in the center of the room with an expression of utter confusion is Nemesis, and standing in front of him is your knife-wielding father. With the war cry of a madman, your father springs forward and plunges the knife into Nemesis’ torso. This action seems to bring Nemesis out of his confused state. He reaches down and picks up your father by his head. Your father proceeds to writhe like a dying fish as he stabs at his attacker’s forearm in an embarrassing attempt to subdue him. Nemesis reaches with his other hand and simply plucks the knife from your father’s grasp, then drops the weapon to the ground with a clatter. He raises the comparatively puny man to eye level and lets out an intimidating growl. You see his hand clench tightly around the head of your father.

“Nemesis! No! Don’t hurt him!” you scream.

Nemesis turns and stares at you with bewilderment. Clearly this man is a threat, yet you don’t want him to be disposed of? He raises his free hand and curls his first three fingers toward his palm repeatedly.

_-Why?-_

“Because that’s my dad!”

Nemesis looks back to the defenseless man hanging from his grasp. With a reluctant growl, he drops your father to the ground unharmed. Your father immediately grabs the discarded knife and stabs it into Nemesis’ thigh. A tentacle emerges and smacks your father back to the ground before Nemesis reaches down and removes the knife from his leg, dropping it to the ground again. Still not getting the message, your father reaches feebly back toward the weapon, but his energy is clearly sapped. You bring your foot down on the blade to stop him from grabbing it again.

“Holy shit, give it a rest, will you?” You reach down and pick up the knife, then set it safely on top of the dresser where your father can’t reach it. You then rush over to Nemesis and run your hands over the bloodied stab wound on his chest. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Nemesis snorts with amusement and raises his hands to sign at you. _-Heal fast.-_

You nod and smile faintly. “Right, of course.”

You feel someone grab you by the shoulders. Your father yanks you toward the doorway. “Get the fuck away from that thing! Let me handle this!”

You push your father away. “Dad, stop. It’s fine. Look.” You walk backwards into Nemesis, who brings his hands to rest on your shoulders with a quiet purr. Regardless, your father jumps toward the knife sitting on the dresser. Another tentacle shoots out and wraps around his wrist, holding him in place. “Oh my god, Dad, the knife isn’t going to do anything. He could literally crush your skull in a single fist if he wanted to. Can you stop trying to kill him for five seconds and just listen to me?”

Your father glares at Nemesis, then at you. “Are you going to explain what the fuck that is and why the fuck it’s in your bedroom and how the fuck it hasn’t killed us all yet and what the fuck is going on!?”

“If you calm down, yeah.”

Your father looks at you like you just pissed on his mother’s grave. “A fucking monster just tried to kill me and you’re telling me to calm down!?”

“To be fair, you stabbed him first,” you argue.

Your father gawks at you. “Fucking hell, you’re talking about it like it’s a fucking _person_!”

“Dad. Calm.”

Your father groans irritably. “Okay, okay, I’m calm. Make it let go of me.”

“Maybe he’ll let go if you ask him nicely,” you say.

“(Y/n), I swear to god, if you don’t-“

“You always raised me to say please when I want something. Or have you already forgotten everything you’ve engrained into me?”

Your father glares at you in silence, not appreciating his own words being turned against him. Finally, he speaks up again. “Let go of my wrist, you hideous abomination. _Please_.”

You nod up toward Nemesis, who retracts the tentacle from around your father’s wrist. You clearly see your father’s eyes dart over toward the knife, but he doesn’t make a move. He finally seems to understand that you have the situation under control, or perhaps that he simply doesn’t stand a chance against something five times his size.

“Okay, good,” you say as you clap your hands together. “Now how about we all go sit in the living room and have a nice, civil, nonviolent discussion?”

“We’re going to have a civil conversation with _that_?” your father hisses as he jabs a finger toward Nemesis.

“Sure,” you say with a shrug. “I mean, so far he’s been a lot more civil than _you_.” Your father simply sputters in response. You take your father’s outstretched hand in one of your hands, then take one of Nemesis’ hands in the other, and lead them out into the hallway and toward the living room, ignoring your father’s protests. You can hear your mother still hyperventilating behind the sofa.

This is going to be a long Thanksgiving.


	8. Family

_Thursday, November 26, 1998 – Thanksgiving Day_

It takes a long time to coax your mother out from behind the sofa. When she finally manages to stand up, she immediately falls back down and regresses into her fit of hyperventilating upon seeing Nemesis standing in the living room. Meanwhile, your father sits in an extra chair you brought in from the kitchen with his face in his hands, muttering under his breath. After what feels like hours, you finally convince your mother that the “monster” isn’t going to hurt her, as he obviously has had plenty of time to do so already yet he hasn’t moved from his spot across the room. You drag her out of hiding and sit her down in the armchair. She continues to shake and sob, her eyes not looking away from Nemesis. Once she is settled as well as she can be, you wave for Nemesis to come sit on the sofa next to you.

He signs back at you. _-Mother afraid.-_

You sigh and turn to your mother. “Mom, he’s gonna come sit on the sofa. Please don’t freak out again.” She shakily nods with a whimper, and you gesture again. He seems hesitant, but Nemesis slowly makes his way toward the sofa. You can see your mother tense out of the corner of your eye, her hands gripping the arms of the chair for dear life, but she stays put as Nemesis takes a seat.

The four of you sit there in silence for a moment, none of you sure who should start or what to even say. Your father is the one to break the silence. “How about we take this from the beginning,” he says, still holding his face in his hands. “Starting with September 28th.”

With a deep breath, you begin to explain the events that unfolded starting on that fateful day. You tell your parents about how you hid in the antique shop before getting chased away by zombies, then about how you came across Nemesis and decided to follow him for protection. You graciously leave out the part about how you two initially bonded, instead talking about him saving your life, then you saving Jill’s life, then your mission to rescue Dr. Bard with Carlos and Tyrell. You explain how you were abducted by Umbrella Corporation, who engineered Nemesis and the T-virus, and about how they tortured you before Nemesis managed to break you both out. You describe your escape, including Tyrell’s heroic sacrifice and Nemesis’ unparalleled use of the rocket launcher. This finally leads you to your stay at the hospital, during which you first contacted your parents to let them know you survived. When you’ve finished your long story, your father is still sitting with his face in his hands, but your mother looks less fearful and maybe even slightly intrigued.

Silence befalls the room once again, and your father is once again the one to break it. “Okay, but... I still don’t understand why the fuck you are letting that thing live in your house. You don’t need it anymore and you could just turn it over to the government and let them deal with it.”

You frown at the thought of what horrors the government might commit toward your mate if they ever got their hands on him. “Uh, did you miss the part about him saving my life? Multiple times?”

“So what, you think you owe it something?”

“No, that’s not it. We, uh…” You turn to Nemesis with a worried expression, and he signs a single word reassuringly.

_-Truth.-_

You sigh and turn back to face your father. “We’ve… bonded.”

Your father finally looks up from his hands, a scowl on his face. “Oh, so it’s your pet now?”

You huff angrily. “Okay, there’s a few things we clearly need to get straight before I explain this any further. First of all, he is a he. Not an it. And second of all, he is not a pet, he is not an animal, he is not a monster, he is not whatever else you want to ignorantly call him. He is a bio-organic weapon with a genetically engineered human base, emphasis on _human_ , and we would both greatly appreciate it if you referred to him as such.”

Your father forces a single laugh. “That _thing_ is not human. And when you bond with something that isn’t human, and you let it in your house, it’s a pet.”

“Do I need to explain basic biology to you to get this through your thick skull?” You feel yourself starting to get irritated. “He has human DNA. He’s a fucking human.”

“It’s eight feet tall and missing half its face. It’s a crime against nature is what it is,” your father spits. “It’s a disgusting abomination. And for some reason that I can’t fucking fathom, you’ve decided it’s your pet.”

You grab the notebook off the end table and wave it around. “Could a pet learn to read? Write? No, because only humans read and write.”

“I can’t believe you are even taking the fucking time to teach it. I can’t believe it even has the capacity to comprehend English in the first place. And I don’t think a pet-“

You jump to your feet with frustration. “For the last time, my mate is not a fucking pet!”

Your father furrows his brow. “I’m sorry, your _what_?”

You feel your rage boiling over, but the feeling of Nemesis taking hold of your hand brings you back from the edge. You turn to him and he signs with his free hand.

_-Calm.-_

The last person you expect to tell you to calm down is someone who has murdered dozens of people in a fit of rage, but you don’t argue. You slowly sit back down on the sofa and squeeze his hand gratefully. “You heard me. He’s my mate.”

“What’s that thing he’s doing?” you mother quietly pipes in, and you are shocked to hear her actually use the correct pronouns. “With his hands?”

“It’s sign language,” you say. “He can’t speak very well so we sign instead. We’re both still learning though, so we-”

“Um, are we just going to ignore the fact that she just called that thing her mate?” your father interrupts. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“I told you, we’ve bonded.”

Nemesis signs again, and you almost miss it. _-Love.-_

“What did he say?” your mother asks.

“Uh… he said we love each other.”

“Oh, so you actually meant that it’s your boyfriend!?” your father spits jokingly.

You frown. “No, we’re mates. That’s deeper than just boyfriend girlfriend dating crap. We’ve bonded emotionally. We’re inseparable.”

“Wait, you were being serious?"

"...Yes?"

Your father makes an incomprehensible noise. "Mates. You’re mates. Holy fuck.” He shakes his head. “Please, for the love of god, please. Please tell me that doesn’t mean what I think it does.”

You shift uncomfortably on the sofa. “Well, that depends on what you think it means.”

“Do you fuck it!?” your father practically screams, causing you to jump.

“Uh…”

Your father abruptly turns to Nemesis. “Do you fuck my daughter!?”

Nemesis looks taken aback by the fact that your father just addressed him directly. He glances down at you, and you give his hand a reassuring squeeze. He turns back to your father and slowly nods.

Your father grabs at the air in front of him with frustration at the fact that he can’t wring your mate’s neck without getting thrown across the room. “What the fuck!? How dare you touch my daughter like that, you depraved, filthy _animal_!? How dare you put your disgusting dick anywhere near her!? You’re a hideous, appalling, disgusting _beast_ to even think that you can threaten my innocent girl to let you stay in her home and lie to her parents and fucking molest her-“

“Now you hold on just a fucking second!” you interrupt. “Don’t you dare call him a filthy animal! Don’t you dare call him hideous and disgusting and whatever else you said! I’m not his mate because he _threatens_ me, I’m his mate because he’s the most wonderful person that I’ve ever met, and I fucking love him! And when he makes love to me, it’s because I damn well want him to!”

Your father splutters incoherently for a moment before he throws his hands into the air. “Holy fuck, (y/n)! You let that disgusting creature put its dick in you _willingly_!? What the fuck!? What the fuck is wrong with you!? What else are you going to fucking tell me? Do you suck its fucking dick!? Do you drink up its semen like a thirsty little whore!? Do you dream of it breeding you like a fucking animal so you can carry around its repugnant spawn!?”

Your mother is starting to look uncomfortable. “Babe, you’re being a bit excessive…”

"I’m being excessive!?” he snaps at her, and she flinches back into her chair. “Are you even hearing the same fucking conversation that I am!? This abhorrent thing fucks our daughter! It’s five times her fucking size and it fucks her! Its dick is probably bigger than my fucking arm! And she’s okay with it! She fucking loves it! How else am I supposed to react, huh!? Am I supposed to fucking congratulate her and ask when the fucking wedding is!? Ask her when we’re getting fucking grandkids!?” His own words set him off even more. “Holy fuck, and what about grandkids!? My only brother is dead with no kids, and now my only daughter is going to carry on my lineage with this fucking monstrosity! All of my hard work for nothing! We would have been better off if she’d just been eaten by zombies, then at least I wouldn’t have to live with this complete disgrace to humanity as my legacy!”

You tense at his last sentence. “Is… is that all I am to you?” you ask, fighting back tears. “I’m just some womb meant to pass on your shitty genes?” Your hurt is quickly surpassed by anger. “I don’t know why Mom even stays with you! You’ve got a lot of gall to call my mate all those shitty things! Nemesis isn’t the monster here, you are! And I can’t believe it took me this long to realize it, you fucking piece of shi-“

Your father’s hand strikes you once again across the face, much harder than the last time he slapped you. Nemesis immediately pulls you to him protectively and leans toward your father with a deep, guttural growl. Even with Nemesis sitting on the sofa and your father standing, Nemesis still towers over him. He begins to rapidly sign, and he is so angry that you can barely interpret his spastic hand movements.

_-Hurt mate, kill.-_

“Speak fucking English,” your father spits.

“He says that if you touch me again, he’ll kill you,” you whisper.

Your father scoffs. “Oh please, you’d just stop it again.”

“I stopped him before because I saw you as my father, and I thought you saw me as your daughter. Now I know you just see me as a means to an end, and now I just see you as the shitbag you are,” you sneer. “Do you want to know how he killed the last people that hurt me? How he broke their limbs and dug out their bowels, crushed their ribs and let them drown in their own blood, ripped them into little pieces and wrung out their bodies like wet towels? Go ahead and touch me again, and I’m sure he’d be happy to demonstrate.” Nemesis growls again.

Your father glares so hard at you that you think his eyeballs are going to pop out of his head. Finally, he breaks and turns away, and you can see just the faintest hint of fear on his face. “You are a fucking degenerate, and I am fucking repulsed that even a fraction of your genetics came from my own god damned loins!” He looks at your mother. “Get up. We’re leaving.” He then stomps over to the closet to retrieve their coats.

Your mother looks between you and your father, and you realize she started crying at some point during this entire ordeal. “G-go on ahead, I’ll meet you in the car,” she whispers.

Your father gawks as he puts on his coat. “What do you mean you’ll meet me in the car!?”

Your mother looks like she’s staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. “I want to talk to (y/n) for a minute.”

“She doesn’t deserve to hear whatever you have to say,” he growls as he throws your mother’s coat onto her lap. “Now get up.”

Your mother’s lip trembles as she clutches the coat. “Whether she deserves it or not is not for you to decide. She’s my daughter, and I want to talk to her.”

Your father throws his hands out in exasperation. “You have got to be fucking kidding me! First my daughter stops listening to me, and now my fucking wife!”

“I’ll only be a minute,” your mother whispers.

“Fine! Whatever! Talk to her! Tell her about how she can do no wrong and you can’t wait to have fucking monster grandkids running around! Tell her about how horrible of a father I am! The entire reason she’s like this is because of you fucking enabling her for her entire life while I was trying to keep her on the straight and narrow! Well I hope you’re happy with where she ended up!” He storms toward the front door. “You have five fucking minutes!” With that, the front door gets slammed shut behind him.

With your father gone, you finally break. The tears start to flow from your eyes as you choke out your best attempt at words. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t want… fuck…” you stammer. Nemesis raises a hand to wipe at your tears, and you lean into him. He pulls you closer with a gentle purr that strikes you as strangely sorrowful. He starts to sign another single word.

_-Sorr-_

You grab his hand mid-sign and pull it to your chest. “No, don’t say you’re sorry. Don’t ever say you’re sorry for what other people do. This isn’t your fault, okay?”

“It’s my fault.” You suddenly become aware that your mother is still sitting in the armchair. She is leaning forward so that she can see you through Nemesis, who is practically shielding you with his entire body. “I’m the one who couldn’t remember which door was the bathroom. I’m the one who spent the last several decades ignoring all the warning signs from your father.”

“It’s not your fault either, Mom,” you say. “It’s my fault for thinking I could keep all these secrets. And it’s Dad’s fault for being a self-absorbed narcissist.”

Your mother opens her mouth to speak, but she quickly closes it again and simply wipes the tears from her face with her sleeve. She shuffles uncomfortably and glances at Nemesis before gathering the gall to ask what’s on her mind. “He doesn’t… hurt you, does he?”

 _Only if I want him to_ , you consider saying, but that doesn’t seem appropriate at the moment. “No. He would never hurt me.”

Your mother looks away. “Not even when you…”

“He’s very gentle,” you assure her. _Most of the time_.

She nods. “Good. That’s... good.” You sit in awkward silence for a moment before she speaks again. “Was what your father said correct? About… grandkids?”

You sigh. “I mean, he’s technically human, but… I literally have no idea how that would work. I'm back on the pill now, so...”

Nemesis raises his hands to sign. _-Confused.-_

“I’ll explain later,” you whisper to him.

“What did he say?” your mother asks.

You shift nervously. “He’s confused about what we’re even talking about. We haven’t exactly… discussed this before.”

“Oh.” Your mother looks away awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I’m just… worried. Confused. Scared.”

“I felt that way too, until I got to know him,” you say.

Your mother looks back at you. “(Y/n), I told you that you can tell us anything. And I was wrong. You obviously can’t tell your father anything. But I still want you to be able to tell me anything.” She pauses and looks down at the floor. “I… I’m very confused by all this. I’m not sure what to think. I don’t think I’ll know what to think until some time has passed. But I want you to know that no matter what, you are still my daughter, and I still love you.”

_-Good mother, no worry, die mate.-_

“What did he say that time?” your mother asks.

You smile faintly. “That one was a bit choppy, but... I think he said you’re a good mom, but that you shouldn’t worry about me, because he would die for me.” Nemesis grunts to affirm your interpretation.

Your mother chuckles so faintly that it’s barely audible. “Telling a mother to not worry is like telling water to not be wet.”

"I know."

She sniffs again, evidently trying not to start crying again. She looks at you with an intensity only a concerned mother can give. "Do you... do you really love him?"

You take one of his hands in both of yours. "Yeah, I do. I love him more than anything."

Your mother nods and looks at the floor. You try to interpret her expression, but the most you can make out is utter confusion. You didn't expect her to understand, but you still find yourself disappointed by her response. At least she isn't hyperventilating anymore. Suddenly a car horn honks outside, and your mother jumps. With a sad look, she pushes herself to her feet. “I guess it’s been five minutes…”

“Um, thanks for staying and talking to me,” you say. “I’d give you a hug if I wasn’t being violently coddled right now.” Nemesis just huffs at you and wraps around you more defensively.

“If there’s anything I can do to make this easier on you, just… let me know, okay? Your father doesn’t have to know about it.”

“Actually, there is one really important thing I need you to do.” Your voice suddenly drops to a serious tone.

“What would that be?”

“I need you to make sure Dad doesn’t tell anyone about this.”

“(Y/n), you know I can’t control-“

“You don’t understand, Mom,” you plead. “Even if it’s just a rumor, all it takes is one person connected to Umbrella to hear it, and everything goes to shit again, and they’ll be better prepared for us this time. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to Nemesis? What they’ll do to me? I have to take PTSD meds now because of what they did to us last time. I know you don’t like to stand up to Dad, but please, promise me that you won’t let him tell anyone about this.”

The car horn honks from outside again. Your mother looks frantically back and forth between you and the door.

“Please.”

She sighs sadly. “Okay. I promise I will do everything in my power to keep this quiet.”

You smile and relax a little. “Thank you.”

With a curt nod, she slips on her coat and heads toward the front door. As she opens it, she turns back to you one last time. “Just… please keep her safe.” Your eyes widen when you realize who your mother is addressing. Nemesis nuzzles the top of your head and purrs to let her know she has nothing to worry about, and your mother’s face almost seem to soften a little bit. You watch as she disappears outside, shutting the door behind her. You don’t move or say anything until you hear the car door open and close and the sound of the vehicle pulling out of your gravel driveway and disappearing down the road.

Your parents just found out that you’re fucking a bioweapon. You just found out that your father only sees you as a tool to achieve his personal goals (not that this surprises you considering how he raised you). You probably just tore apart a marriage. Your father might tell someone about this. Hell, knowing him, he might just contact Umbrella Corporation itself. To top it all off, Nemesis probably thinks this is his fault. You should be losing your shit right now, but for some reason you just feel drained and empty.

_-Okay?-_

You groan and snuggle further into him. “No, I kind of feel like shit, actually.” He gives a disheartened growl as he reaches up to stroke your hair. “What about you? Are you okay?”

He takes a moment to think about it before answering. _-Sad.-_

You frown and place your hand on his forearm where your father stabbed him. The wound has already healed over, leaving nothing more than a faint section of fresh skin. “Me too.” You run your hand along his arm until you reach his hand, which you gently take and bring to your face. You touch his rough knuckles to your lips and linger there.

The last two weeks had been so quiet and uneventful, and you should have known it wouldn’t last. You just didn’t expect to be disowned by one of the people that brought you into the world, and on a day about family and thankfulness, nonetheless. You’re almost glad that your father found out about this, simply out of spite over the fact that you just crushed his pathetic aspirations of carrying on his family lineage through you. You couldn’t care less about your family name. You couldn’t care less about your father’s legacy. You’re just frustrated that your mother and your mate have to be dragged into this conflict between you and your father.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” you quietly say against his hand. “Umbrella created you to be their legacy, to fulfill a purpose that entirely benefits them. And here it turns out my father created me to be his legacy, to fulfill a purpose that entirely benefits him. But then one day the universe just decided to throw our paths together so that we’d finally realize that nobody can tell us what to do, even if they’re the ones who brought us into the world, because we are our own people with our own feelings and ideas and desires. And now here we are. Together. It’s almost like the universe knew we needed each other or something.”

_-Good together.-_

You smile faintly. “As much as our situations suck, I’m glad that we can kind of relate over it. I mean, we’ve gotta have something more in common than just species, and even that’s a stretch.” Nemesis huffs, and you chuckle, but your small smile is quickly replaced by a frown. “Listen, I… I’m sorry about my dad. All those things he said about you… They aren’t true, okay?”

You feel Nemesis tense beneath you for some reason. He raises his hands to sign. _-Food.-_

You blink blankly at his sudden attempt at changing the subject. You suppose it makes sense that he doesn’t want to talk about your father, though, so you don’t think much of it. Maybe it’s a good idea to distract yourselves with a meal. “Well, I never finished eating before Dad started throwing his fit, and there’s still tons of leftovers in the kitchen. Wanna have dinner together?”

Nemesis grunts affirmatively, and you squirm your way out of the ball he has formed around you with his body. You appreciate that he is so protective, although it might be borderline possessive. Then again, after everything you’ve been through, you can’t blame him for being excessively on-edge about your personal safety. You’re pretty accident prone.

You take him by the arm and lead him into the kitchen, where he immediately growls hungrily at the visual and olfactory display of homecooked dishes. Just as you suspected, dinner with your mate is much more enjoyable than the awkward excuse for a dinner you had with your parents just hours ago, barring his abhorrent table manners. He doesn’t angrily shovel food into his mouth while ignoring your presence like your father. He doesn’t make painful small talk like your mother. He doesn’t barge in screaming after rummaging through the trashcan in the bathroom. He just devours pretty much the entire pan of mashed potatoes.

You fork some more food onto your half-finished plate, having regained your appetite after the hours of family drama. You don’t even bother to microwave it; it tastes fine at room temperature. As you take a bite out of a dinner roll, you find yourself staring at Nemesis across the table as he tries to decide whether he likes the cranberry sauce. Your heart suddenly feels incredibly heavy and sad. Jenna and your mother took this surprisingly well, as did Jill and Carlos back in the day, but they still don’t fully understand Nemesis the way you do. You doubt that they see him as anything close to human. And even then, they are in the minority. Most people are like Steve or your father. They will never be able to see past external appearances. They will never be able to see past the fact that he was made to be a bioweapon, not to be humanized and understood and loved. You just want him to be happy, and how is that supposed to ever happen in a world where he can’t even leave the house? Hell, he apparently isn’t even safe in the house anymore. And the worst part is that he doesn’t even seem to realize it, or if he does, he’s just accepted it to the point of not caring. It hurts.

You startle when you feel something brush against your cheek. Nemesis is staring intently at you, and you realize he has extended a tentacle across the table to wipe tears off your face. When did you start crying? You bring a hand up to the appendage and offer a sad attempt at a smile. Here you are doing it again, making him comfort you when you should be the one comforting him. You find it hard to believe that he wasn’t hurt by anything your father said. Others might not see it, but you know he’s too emotionally intelligent to just brush it off like meaningless drabble. You can see the emotions in his eye, hear the emotions in the sounds he makes, feel the emotions in the way he handles you. The idea that Umbrella even thought to take something with so much feeling and turn it into a mindless killing machine is unbearable.

“Maybe we should just go to bed,” you whisper. It’s still early, but you’ve both eaten plenty and you just want today to be over.

_-Talk?-_

Your smile fades at the concern in his sign. You’ve never been one to talk about your problems. Hell, you’ve never had many problems to even talk about. Now that you are facing an onslaught of internal conflicts, however, you feel like it’s just easier to bottle them up and put them on the mental shelf to forget about. You don’t want to burden anyone else with your personal traumas. And they surely can’t bother you if you just forget about them, just like you forced yourself to forget about-

“I’m really tired,” you quickly say before any unwanted memories can resurface. “I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.” Nemesis gives you a worried look as you rise to your feet. “Help me put away the leftovers, okay?”

Nemesis rumbles hesitantly as you begin to close the food containers and transfer them into the fridge. You feel bad not opening up to him about your thoughts, but you don’t want him to worry even more about you. To your relief, he soon joins you in putting away leftovers and placing dirtied dishes into the sink. You internally groan at the thought of all the dishes you will have to do in the morning, but at least the table and countertop are now virtually spotless.

You switch off the kitchen light and begin to head out of the room when something sweeps you off your feet. You gasp as Nemesis lifts you into his arms bridal style. “What are you doing? You think I can’t walk to the bedroom on my own?” you joke, but you internally appreciate the gesture. Nemesis responds by simply nuzzling his face against yours with a purr, forcing you to smile.

As your mate carries you into the back of the house, you silently hope that this will all be better by morning. Certainly, you can cope with this just like you cope with everything else, by ignoring and forgetting, just like-

You bury your face in Nemesis’ chest, cursing your brain. Why is your memory so intent on making you remember _that_ right now? Is it just because of the stress from today’s quarrel with your father? Your worry over your mate’s standing in the world? Whatever it is, your brain needs to get over it, because you are never going to remember the terror you felt at _that_ _moment_ ever again.

Certainly, you’ve forgotten about it for good.


	9. Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya readers. I don’t normally put warnings on specific chapters because I just expect people to look at the tags and I don’t like to spoil things, but… this chapter gets kinda fucked up. Those two major archive warnings come into play here. I figure y'all can handle messed up shit happening to poor reader if you made it through part 1, and there's always a line I won't cross, but still. Just throwing that out there so you don't get blindsided. Godspeed.

_Friday, November 27, 1998_

You open your eyes to nothing but darkness. Turning your head to face the digital clock sitting on the bedside table, you note that it is 3:10 in the morning. You sigh heavily; you don’t often wake up in the middle of the night, but you always find it difficult to go back to sleep when you do. With careful movements so as not to wake him, you squirm under the covers to find and cuddle your mate, hoping that his warmth will help lull you back to sleep. To your confusion, however, you are simply met by a cold and empty mattress. Your eyes gradually adjust to the darkness and confirm that Nemesis is nowhere to be found.

You wonder where he could have gone. Did he get up to eat something? Surely, he can’t be hungry after eating so much for dinner. Based on the low temperature of his side of the bed, he’s been up for a while. Perhaps he just needed some space and fresh air.

You sit up rapidly when you hear the crash of something breaking in the living room followed by a faint rustling. “Nemesis, is that you?” you shout. The rustling ceases, but you receive no response. You know he wouldn’t just ignore you, so either he didn’t hear you… or that wasn’t him. You immediately regret yelling out so hastily, then immediately regret your regret. You have nothing to be afraid of as long as Nemesis is here, and surely he couldn’t have gone far.

As quietly as you can, you throw the covers off yourself and climb onto the floor. The wooden floorboards creak at the sudden addition of your weight, and you pause. No matter how softly you step with your bare feet, the floor will inevitably continue to creak beneath you and alert whoever is out there to your presence. Do you dare to investigate further? You look around for anything to defend yourself with in case things go south, but everything in the bedroom is either too big to wield as a weapon or too small or soft to be of any use. With the conscious decision to throw all your self-preservation instinct out the window for the sake of satisfying your innermost curiosities, you walk across the bedroom toward the door.

Not every step results in noise, only the occasional loose floorboard. Nevertheless, each creak causes you to freeze and listen for any movement. Other than the crash and the rustling you heard earlier, the house is completely silent. As you continue your slow progress down the hallway, your mind screams at you that this is a horrible decision. You are well-versed in horror movies and their tropes, and you should know that investigating the mysterious sound in the middle of the night is a surefire path to death. You haven’t felt so vulnerable, unarmed and alone, since that night in Raccoon City before you met Nemesis. Where is he now when you need him to protect you and assure you that you are safe?

The living room finally comes into view as you reach the end of the hallway. God, it’s so dark; you can hardly even make out the murky shapes of the sofa and the armchair across the room. You look toward the kitchen; it’s dark too. Surely, Nemesis would have turned on the light had he gotten up for food. Your eyes scan across the living room in search of anything out of the ordinary, and your gaze falls upon a mess on the floor. You quickly realize that it is the ceramic lamp from the end table. It has fallen and shattered into pieces. That explains the crash you heard earlier, but what was the rustling? And what knocked the lamp over?

Your eyes drift upward and you freeze. There is another murky shape in the corner of the room, a shape that shouldn’t be there, and as your eyes adjust further, you realize what it is. “Nemesis?” you shakily call out, but the massive figure doesn’t respond in any way. You begin to walk closer, your fear falling away only to be replaced by concern. Why is he ignoring you? Why is he just standing in the corner staring at the wall like that? Why did he knock over the lamp? Why is he even out of bed in the first place? You stop just a few feet away from him and notice he is crossing his hands across the front of his body, almost like he is trying to hide them. He is also completely unclothed. You reach out a hand to gently place on his arm. “Nemesis? Are you oka-“

As soon as your hand makes contact with his skin, he whips around to face you, and you scream in abject horror. You beg your legs to move, but it suddenly feels like you are standing knee-deep in wet cement.

It isn’t Nemesis.

Your scream falters as you are struck by a massive clawed hand that sends you hurtling across the room to strike the far wall and crumple to the floor. Everything hurts as you push yourself up onto your hands and knees to face the intruder, your mind racing to recall what this thing is. Your blood runs cold when your eyes fall on the gaping hole in the creature’s stomach, and repressed memories come flooding back to you.

It’s a Tyrant T-103. But not just any Tyrant T-103. It’s the one that Dr. Richards commanded to… tried to… almost…

In the process of fighting against a memory you've tried so hard to repress, you don’t notice that the Tyrant has approached you again. You try to dart out of the way too late as one of those horrifically mutated hands slams you flat against the ground, threatening to squish you like a bug. What is this thing doing here, and how did it find you?

Oh, god. Did your father call Umbrella Corporation? Is this the Corporation’s sick idea of how to eliminate you? To send in the only thing that you can’t bear to let yourself remember? God, it’s going to kill you, isn’t it?

Just when you think you can’t feel any more helpless, the Tyrant reaches toward you with its other hand and haphazardly rips through your shirt with a single claw, leaving a long bloody scratch along the length of your back in the process. It hooks the exposed hem of your pants and underwear with a claw and violently rips them from your body, leaving you completely exposed. You writhe and shriek underneath the creature’s hand when you come to the horrific realization that this thing is still trying to follow the last order it was given. To fuck you, possibly to death.

“Stop! Let me go!” you scream as loud as your lungs can bear as you fight unsuccessfully against your attacker. “Get away from me!”

You flail your legs as the Tyrant walks around to kneel over you, your body held in place between its massive knees. A disgusted shudder ripples through you when you feel the Tyrant lean its head down and breathe heavily against the back of your neck. You can feel its heartbeat against your back.

“Nemesis!” you cry desperately. Did Umbrella already incapacitate him? He can’t be gone, right? He’ll come rescue you, right? “Nemesi-AHGH!” Your call for help turns into a repulsed scream when you feel the Tyrant’s wet tongue lick from your shoulder blade up your neck to the base of your jaw. You throw your head back as hard as you can and manage to strike the Tyrant’s face with your skull. It lets out an aggravated growl as it places a hand on the back of your head and slams your face down hard against the wooden floor. You cry out as your nose smashes against the floor, aggravating your recently healed fracture.

With your head subdued, the Tyrant leans down once more and brings its mouth to your shoulder. You screech in pain as it bites down hard enough to rip through your skin and draw blood. You feel your entire body tensing and trembling with disgust and fear as the Tyrant continues to bite down harder and harder, and you are certain it will take off a chunk of your shoulder if it continues. A growl reverberates throughout the Tyrant’s body. A threat. Don’t scream. Don’t resist. It’ll only make things more miserable for you.

With a final sob, you fall silent and let your body relax under its grasp, and it rewards your compliance by easing up on your shoulder. You whimper pathetically as you feel its tongue run along your skin between its teeth, lapping up your blood like a thirsty animal. Why can’t it just fuck you and kill you already? Why does it have to humiliate you? Is it getting off to this or something? Did Umbrella instruct it to toy with you? Whatever the case, you suppose it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that this is how it ends, and tears stream down your face at this reality.

You just want to see Nemesis again. You just want to hear him breaking through the door with an enraged roar and slaughtering this abhorrent thing holding you down. Then he would kneel and pick you up, holding you against him like you’re the most fragile and valuable thing to ever exist. You would feel his comforting purr, reassuring you that you’re safe again. What will happen instead? Is Nemesis still alive, even? Will Umbrella take your naked, violated corpse and throw it down before him, relishing in his agony at seeing his mate taken away from him so horrifically by his own kind simply because he wasn’t there to protect you?

With your shoulder still grasped firmly in its jaws, the Tyrant shifts above you. You feel gross and violated and humiliated, and you wish it would just get this over with so you can just die already and stop thinking about it. You nearly scream again when you feel what you can only assume to be its massive genitalia coming to rest against the bare skin of your lower back. It ruts dryly against you with a growl.

“Please… stop…” you beg as a last-ditch effort to make this all stop. The creature emits a strange noise that almost sounds like laughter and simply presses your face harder into the floor. God, you don’t want this. You don’t fucking want this. You’d rather have just stayed with Umbrella and been tortured and experimented on for the rest of your life. Anything but this. You wonder if Umbrella will bother to tell your father how you died. Maybe he’ll be horrified and become wracked with guilt, but you doubt that. He’ll probably relish in your suffering just as much as Umbrella and this Tyrant about to fuck you. He doesn’t care about you. He never cared about you. You hope he burns in the deepest depths of hell.

_CRASH!_

The weight of the Tyrant on top of you is suddenly ripped away, its teeth tearing deeply through your flesh as it is flung across the room. You scramble to your hands and knees at the first opportunity and crawl backward toward the opposite wall to put as much distance between yourself and the Tyrant as possible. Reaching a hand up to your injured shoulder reveals a deep wound gushing blood. You don’t have time to panic, instead nearly crying out with relief when you realize why the Tyrant was thrown off you.

Across the room, Nemesis roars as he keeps the Tyrant pinned against the ground with one hand. With his other hand he pummels the Tyrant’s face into what you can only imagine is a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, the Tyrant isn’t giving up without a fight. Using its massive claws, it swipes at Nemesis’ legs and sends him stumbling backwards, allowing the Tyrant to wriggle out from underneath his grasp and get to its feet. Nemesis shoots a tentacle through the hole in the Tyrant’s stomach, using it as leverage to throw the Tyrant to the side and back down onto the ground. However, the Tyrant catches itself on the back of the sofa and slashes down with its claws, severing the tentacle holding its body. Nemesis stumbles back with a pained grumble as he retracts the damaged tentacle.

Nemesis lurches forward to throw a powerful punch, hitting the Tyrant directly in the ribs, and you can practically hear bones cracking. The Tyrant keels over in apparent agony, and Nemesis reels up for another shot. Suddenly the Tyrant shoots upright and swipes at Nemesis while his guard is down. Nemesis stumbles back into the wall, and you can clearly see huge bloody gashes on his torso. The Tyrant pushes off the ground and charges toward Nemesis while he is still trying to regain his bearings, and you scream with horror as the Tyrant’s claws pierce through Nemesis’ body, literally pinning him into the wall.

The Tyrant raises its other hand to strike its immobilized foe only for Nemesis to grab the Tyrant’s raised wrist. The Tyrant struggles to slash its claws forward while Nemesis struggles to push its claws back. Just when it seems like they’ve reached a stalemate, Nemesis’ grip buckles and the Tyrant’s arm snaps forward, severing your mate’s arm at the shoulder. He roars in immense pain and fury, and your vision practically goes red.

“Leave him alone!” Mustering all your courage and strength, you push yourself to your feet and charge at the Tyrant. You obviously can’t do anything to gain control over the situation, but you are so blinded by anger that this thing hurt your mate that you have lost the ability to rationalize. You wrap yourself around the Tyrant’s arm and try to pull it back in a desperate attempt to free Nemesis from being skewered to the wall. The Tyrant simply grunts with annoyance and thrusts its arm back, elbowing you in the sternum and sending you crumpling to the floor with a pained groan.

A sickening squelch hits your ears, and you look up from the floor to see that the Tyrant has impaled Nemesis directly through the neck. The Tyrant quickly retracts its claws from Nemesis’ body and steps back, releasing him from the wall. Nemesis makes the most haunting sound you have ever heard as he staggers forward toward the Tyrant, gurgling on his own blood as it pours out through his neck and mouth and runs down his chest. He reaches out his remaining hand in a desperate attempt to grab at the Tyrant, but the attempt quickly ends as his knees give out and he crashes to the ground with a thud.

“Nemesis!” you cry out as you rush over to him on your hands and knees. You throw yourself onto him as if to shield him from any further attacks while he heals. He will heal, right? He always heals! He just has to get back up and finish this thing off! Dr. Richards himself said that Nemesis should easily be able to take down a standard Tyrant in one-on-one combat. Why is this any different? You realize that you are sobbing into him, covering yourself with his blood. You feel his hand wrap around your undamaged shoulder, and you move your gaze to stare into his eye. The look he is giving you is not one of reassurance, but rather one of something you never imagined you would see in him. He attempts to say something, but all that comes out is a horrific gurgling noise.

“What? What are you trying to say? Use your hand,” you insist.

He releases your shoulder and holds up his index finger, which he then quickly flicks away from himself. It takes you a second to register what he is saying, since this is normally a sign formed with both hands. _-Run away.-_

You grasp at him in desperation. “No! No, I’m not leaving you!”

Nemesis responds by holding up his palm, then flipping it over, then pointing at himself. _-I'm dying.-_

“You aren’t gonna die!” you bawl. This doesn't make any sense! This isn't how his body is supposed to work! “You can heal! You’ve done it before! You can-AUGH!”

You are cut off as something grabs you from behind and yanks you off the floor. You look down to see both your sides held in the massive claws of the Tyrant, who spins around and throws you forcefully against the wall. Before you have a chance to fall to the floor from the force of the impact, the Tyrant lunges forward and presses you against the wall with one hand. It slowly raises its hand, lifting you up until your feet aren’t even touching the floor. You stare over its shoulder at your mate lying limp and unmoving on the floor. There’s no way he’s…

The Tyrant leans forward so that its face is directly in front of yours and huffs out a harsh breath that burns against your skin. You claw at it with your arms and kick at it with your legs. “You killed him! You fucking killed him! I’ll fucking kill you! I’ll fu-MMPH!”

Your threats are silenced when the Tyrant smashes its lips against yours. You retaliate by biting down as hard as you can on its lower lip, but it has little effect. The Tyrant’s tongue threatens to push through your pursed lips and clenched teeth, but you refuse to allow it entrance. The Tyrant simply presses its hand harder against your bruised sternum, causing you to involuntarily gasp and allow its tongue entry into your mouth. You bite down hard on the muscular appendage, filling your mouth with the metallic taste of blood, but the Tyrant still doesn’t react. Its tongue simply continues to squirm uncomfortably between your teeth as its rough, dry lips move harshly against your own. You try to push the Tyrant away with your hands, but your strength is laughable and worthless compared to its own.

As saliva from both your mouths dribbles down your chin, your mind reels chaotically. Nemesis isn’t dead. He can’t be dead. He’s survived so many things before that should have been fatal. He can heal. Why would being impaled through the neck and having his arm ripped off suddenly do him in? Any moment he’ll get up and save you, right? He stands a chance against this mutated monstrosity violating you, right? He can’t just die and let his murderer take his mate in every way possible. It can’t end like this, not after everything you’ve been through together. Why doesn't this make any sense?

You gasp as the Tyrant’s bare body presses up against yours, releasing its tongue from your toothy vice grip. It finally draws its lips away from yours before lowering its mouth to your good shoulder. It wouldn’t, right? You are quickly corrected when you feel teeth puncturing through the skin of your other shoulder even harder than the previous bite, surely a punishment for what you did to its tongue. You scream in pain as you feel blood welling up around its teeth and pooling into its mouth.

Your screaming eventually devolves into desperate sobbing and whimpering. You have to face the facts right now. The love of your life is dead. This thing killed him. And now it’s going to fuck you, and then it’s going to kill you, and then Umbrella will walk in to survey the carnage left behind by their handiwork with satisfaction. When the Tyrant finally removes its teeth from your shoulder, you glare straight into its cold, dead eyes and whisper what you anticipate will be your final words before you are ripped from this mortal coil to join your lover.

“You’ll never be what he was. You’ll never be happy. You’ll never be loved. You’ll never be human.” You lean in and hiss against its face. “Burn in hell.”

The Tyrant suddenly lurches forward, and something warm and wet splatters against your chest. Your eyes drift down to see that something has impaled the Tyrant directly through its oversized heart. The penetrating object retracts from the Tyrant’s torso, leaving behind a massive wound that spurts blood like a severed artery. Blood flows through the Tyrant’s gray lips as the circulatory organ spasms unnaturally. Its grip on you weakens, allowing your body to slide back down the wall, and you fall to the floor. The fatally wounded Tyrant staggers above you, and you watch as the life drains from its icy white eyes and it collapses to the floor. You wait for it to inevitably get back up again, but it doesn't.

It's... dead.

You stare past the Tyrant’s corpse in search of whatever saved your life, and your body tenses in a confusing amalgamation of awe, fear, and disgust. Before you stands a hulking figure unlike anything you have ever seen. It stands on two vaguely digitigrade legs ending in fiercely clawed feet. Its muscular body stands hunched over such that its massive arms hang just a bit too forward. One arm is relatively normal aside from ending in a set of claws rivaling those on the feet. The other arm appears to be completely boneless, twisting and writhing like a giant fleshy worm, and you quickly identify this as the appendage that pierced through the Tyrant’s heart. Several more tentacles practically ripple across the surface of the creature’s skin, whipping and grasping at nothing in particular. The creature before you is so tall that its hunched shoulders brush against the ceiling, forcing it to hang its head low. It has a grossly elongated neck ending in a mutilated face with massive exposed teeth and a single blank eye. A disconcerting mixture of saliva and blood drips down its jaw and onto the floor.

“…Nemesis?”

Your voice is hardly audible, but the creature hears you anyway. He lets out a rumbling growl unlike anything you have ever heard, and you find yourself unable to interpret anything in it. This is definitely him, but… different. Is this what Dr. Richards meant when he spoke of mutations? You swallow your instinctual inhibitions and reach a hand up toward him with a soft smile. It doesn’t matter. So what if he mutated? He’s alive. He’s alive and he saved you and he’s standing right in front of you. You don’t care what he looks like or what he sounds like. He’s your mate, and you aren't going to stop loving him just because he looks, well, horrifying, quite honestly. You will _never_ stop loving him. You watch as he reaches toward you with the thick tentacle that has replaced his one arm, but he seems restrained, conflicted, almost confused.

“It’s okay," you whisper as you stretch your fingers toward him. "It’s okay. We're alive, and that's all that matters. I still love y-GCK“

Your voice catches in your throat and you lurch as something violently rips through your body. You look down and stare at the massive _thing_ now piercing through your chest. You open your mouth to question what the hell just happened, but you find yourself choking and gagging as blood gushes through your esophagus and larynx and out your mouth. Tears pour out of your burning eyes as you drool blood all over yourself. Your hand is still outstretched toward your mate, frozen in the air as though it cannot register that he isn’t going to lovingly take it in his own grasp.

After all, he’s the one who just impaled you.

You feel your body lift off the floor as Nemesis raises the perpetrating appendage into the air until you are eye level with him. You stare into his face in search of anything at all that could indicate what he is thinking. His normally expressive gaze simply stares at you blankly. He might as well be staring at a wall. Your heart is already impaled, but it shatters even more when you realize that he has no idea who you are. He’s your mate, and he’s forgotten you.

You feebly reach out a hand and gently touch his cheek, caressing his face to the best of your ability considering that you’ve now lost all feeling in your extremities. Even as you die by his hand, you feel nothing but love for him. He’s reverted into a mindless bioweapon, and you’re literally bleeding out for him, and it doesn’t matter. This isn't really him doing this, it's something else entirely. You can’t bring yourself to hate him. You can’t bring yourself to be angry at him. He’s yours, and you’re his, and you love him.

Your vision is starting to blur around the edges. Your body feels so cold. So very, very cold.

_And you still love him._

* * *

You open your eyes to nothing but darkness. And as the darkness engulfs you, you become acutely aware of several sensations. First, you are being violently shaken. Second, you are drenched in sweat and tears. And third, you are screaming at the top of your lungs.

Wondering why you are screaming when there is nothing here, you shut your mouth. Your entire body is shivering from how soaked you are. Why are you able to sweat? Why are you able to feel? Why are you able to scream? You’re dead. You’re dead and formless and floating in the inky void.

The shaking stops when you fall silent, and your eyes begin to adjust. You can see things in the darkness. Familiar things. Walls. Ceiling. A room? Furniture. A face.

A familiar face.

You blink the tears out of your eyes as you stare up at glistening teeth and a single white eye. “Nemesis?” you whisper.

Nemesis pulls you toward him and holds you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You feel something wet and realize he is crying too. He lets out an unusual sound that is dripping with concern. As you are held limply against him, your mind reaches out across your body to register any previously unnoticed tactile input. You are sitting on something squishy. Something soft and light is draped over your body. Your hair is matted to your head where it was just resting against a cushiony object. The pieces slowly start to fit together.

You’re sitting up in bed. Everything that happened, from waking up alone to getting murdered by your mate, was a nightmare. That's why there were things that didn't make sense. You must have been sweating and crying and screaming in your sleep, and Nemesis began violently shaking you to wake you up. You’re not dead and he didn’t kill you and Umbrella has no idea where you are. Everything is fine.

_Everything is fine._

As you regain control over your body, you shakily lift your arms to wrap them around your mate and return his embrace. Your entire body trembles as you begin to weep. It has been so long since you’ve had a nightmare. Even when you did used to have nightmares, they were never like this. They were never so vivid, so painful, so demented. Your body practically aches as you recall the pain you felt being thrown around and bitten and impaled and crushed and _forgotten_. It felt so _real_. What that Tyrant tried to do to you all those months ago shook you so deeply to the point of memory repression, and you never imagined that you could experience anything worse. But seeing the complete lack of recognition in Nemesis' eye as he killed you... Nothing ever shook you like _that_. You doubt anything ever will again.

"Thank you," you whimper through your tears. You suppose you're thanking him for waking you up, but perhaps another part of you is also thanking him just for recognizing you at all.

Nemesis purrs softly and slowly lays back down, bringing you with him. He pulls away from you just enough so that you can see him repeatedly curl and uncurl his index finger as he moves it away from his head. _-Dream?-_

“Nightmare,” you whisper. He grunts inquisitively, and you frown. “It was about Umbrella. That’s all.” You feel bad lying to him, but you can’t possibly tell him you dreamed about him killing you, especially after all those horrible things your father told him yesterday. It would break his heart.

Nemesis looks angry for a split second at the mention of Umbrella, but he quickly falls back into compassion and concern. He touches his forehead to yours with a protective growl. “Safe,” his monstrous voice rumbles out, and you smile.

“I know.”

You stare into his face and focus on his eye. It is so wonderful to see his gaze full of emotion just as you remember, not that empty and dead stare from your nightmare. You know here and now that this relationship isn’t just about him protecting you and keeping you safe. You have to protect him and keep him safe too. You won’t ever let anything break him like that, stripping away his love and emotion and humanity. You’ll gladly die if it means protecting him, but hopefully it never comes to that, as that would only leave him grief-stricken and alone.

“I love you,” you whisper. “I love you so much. No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.” Nemesis purrs affectionately in response, pulling you closer.

You close your eyes, but you can still see the image of his loving gaze imprinted in your mind. The thought of going back to sleep is terrifying, as if nightmares are lurking in your subconscious like predators stalking prey. You distract yourself from your apprehension by focusing on the feelings surrounding you: Nemesis’ warm body, his forehead pressed against yours, his arms wrapped around you and holding you close, his quiet growls and purrs, his breathing, his heartbeat, the soft mattress, the warm sheets, the comforting pillows, and finally, the all-encompassing darkness of dreamless sleep.


	10. A Quiet Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm writing a smutty holiday chapter in August and nobody can stop me.
> 
> Also, this series is now 100k+ words, part 2 is already longer than part 1 despite only being halfway done, and I may or may not be planning more parts. I don't know how this happened lol.

_Friday, December 25, 1998 – Christmas Day_

You can hardly believe that it has almost been an entire month since the incident with your parents. Things have been quiet since then, perhaps disconcertingly so. The nightmares receded just as quickly as they returned, much to your relief. There's still no sign of Umbrella, so your mother must be succeeding at least somewhat in keeping your father quiet. Nemesis is still faring well, although he has been a bit more possessive after everything that happened. Even the rumors around the town are finally starting to die out. Nonetheless, you can't help but feel unwavering tension throughout this moment of peace. You may finally be living the life you always wanted, with personal freedom and someone you love dearly, but there's still so much residual pain. Familial scars linger in the back of your mind, eating away at you like persistent little maggots. As much as you try to push it down just like everything else, the hurt won't go away. You're hurt by the reality that has been shoved in your face, the reality that this world will never see your love as even remotely valid, never see Nemesis as even remotely human. He and Jenna are the only people keeping you grounded at the moment. It may be a small support network, but at least you have anyone at all.

Speaking of Jenna, she invited you to Christmas dinner with her family, and you didn’t have the strength to turn her down like you turned her down for Thanksgiving. She hadn’t even bothered to ask if you had any plans. She knew you didn’t. After all, your family has disowned you. Ever since you relayed the events from Thanksgiving to your friend, she hasn’t stopped trying to drag you into activities with her own family. You know she is just trying to help, but it’s a little off-putting. Perhaps she thinks that spending time with her picture-perfect American-dream-fulfilling blatantly religious parents will fill in whatever hole your own parents left in your life. If only it were that simple.

Now here you stand on Jenna’s front porch with a neatly wrapped gift box tucked under your arm, waiting for someone to answer the doorbell. You haven’t seen Steve since he jumped out from the bushes and threatened you, and you aren’t looking forward to breaking your streak of Steve-free days. You aren't exactly the most emotionally stable these days, and the last thing you want to do is deal with his bullshit. According to Jenna, he has moved on from his theory that you are kidnapping people to feed to a creature in your house, since all the killings and disappearances abruptly stopped after the campus killer was apprehended. Still, he is convinced that you are plotting some nefarious scheme against humanity and that Jenna is a target rather than a friend. He continues to pester Jenna about what happens when she visits your house every Tuesday, but she remains strong and acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. This just drives Steve further to the brink of insanity.

The front door opens to reveal Jenna’s mother. “(Y/n)! We’re so glad you could make it! Come on in!” She steps aside and you step through the door with a grateful smile before slipping your boots and coat off and setting them on the rug beside the door.

“Thank you so much for letting me have dinner with your family,” you say.

“Oh, it’s our pleasure!” the mother assures you. “We’re just sorry to hear that your parents aren’t feeling well.”

Ah, yes, the lie Jenna fed her family about your parents falling ill with the flu just days ago, forcing you to cancel previous plans to fly out and celebrate the holidays with them. You simply wave your hand dismissively despite the pang in your chest. “Oh, don’t worry yourselves about them. They’ll get better with time and rest.”

“Everyone is already waiting in the kitchen,” the mother says as she turns and leads you down the hallway. She lowers her voice and leans toward you. “We already told Steven to be on his best behavior this evening.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Jenna pops out from around the corner with a welcoming smile. “Merry Christmas, (y/n)!”

“Hey, Jenna,” you say as you hold out the brightly wrapped present. “I brought you a gift.”

“Aw, that’s so nice!” Jenna squeals as she takes the box from your hands. “I'll go put it with the gift I got for you! How about we wait until after dinner and then open everything together?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, and Jenna disappears into the living room to stash her gift under the tree next to yours. Seeing her so enthusiastic about the holidays is kind of humorous considering that she's a senior in college. Your family was never really big on gift-giving once you grew up, but when Jenna insisted on getting you something, you decided that maybe this was the year to revisit the old tradition. You must admit, it feels weird giving and receiving gifts, like you're revisiting some kind of long-forgotten childlike innocence.

While she’s busy, you scan over the kitchen. The counter is covered with every holiday dish imaginable, from honey-glazed ham to pecan pie, and it smells amazing. Sitting at the table is Jenna’s father, and next to him sits Steve, who appears to be straining himself in an effort to not look at you. You take a seat on the other side of Jenna’s father so that you aren’t in Steve’s direct line of sight. Jenna returns to the kitchen and sits beside you, and Jenna’s mother takes a seat between her two children. Just like last time, the father leads in prayer, and then everyone digs in. You pile your plate with your favorite dishes as casual conversation regarding the cooking sparks around the table.

“How’s your Christmas been so far?” you ask Jenna once the conversation lulls.

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Jenna says after swallowing her bite of unidentifiable casserole. “Went to church, came home and exchanged gifts, started cooking dinner. Mom and Dad got me some books I’ve been wanting to read and some clothes. And Steve got me some CD’s.”

“The kids pitched in together and bought one of those fancy new DVD players for the family,” Jenna’s father says.

“Woah, that’s crazy!” you say. You are tempted to comment on how expensive that must have been, but you don’t want to pry into the family’s financial situation. “I’ve seen ads for those, but I’ve never known anyone who owns one.”

“Yeah, we only got one movie for it so far, since they’re not really that common yet," Jenna says. "But Steve and all his nerd friends say they’re gonna be the next big thing.”

You notice everyone else turning to Steve expectantly, surely waiting for him to share what he got for Christmas. His eyes dart around to each of his family members, then fall back down to his plate, still refusing to look at you. “Uh, parents got me Ocarina of Time,” he mumbles. “Jenna got me some tech stuff.”

“Pfft, come on, give me more credit than that!” Jenna scolds before turning to you. “I got him this GPS thingy he’s been going on about forever. Took me forever to find where to buy one. Probably would have helped if I understood what it even is.” She takes another bite of food and proceeds to speak with her mouth full. “Oh, speaking of gifts, what did you-know-who think of what you got him?”

You smile. “Oh, dude, he loves it. We spent literally all day watching it.”

“Who’s you-know-who?” Jenna’s father asks.

“Oh, uh, my boyfriend. Got him one of those televisions with the built-in VCR.”

Jenna’s mother raises an eyebrow. “Boyfriend, huh? Jenna never mentioned you had a boyfriend. Why didn’t you go to his house for Christmas dinner?”

“Probably because he already lives with me.” You catch Steve choking on his food.

“Is that so?” Jenna’s mother replies, and you can tell by the sound of her voice that her good Christian heart is a bit off put by the idea of an unmarried couple living under the same roof. “Why aren’t you home with him?”

You poke at your food while staring at Steve’s oddly contorting facial expressions. “Well, I felt bad turning down your generous offer to have me over for another holiday. You guys are such a nice family and I don’t want to come across as ungrateful. Besides, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t have any sentimental attachment to the holidays or anything.”

“You should have brought him with you,” Jenna’s father says, and Steve practically knocks over his glass of water. “There’s always room at our table for one more.”

“Not enough room for this,” Steve mutters under his breath, but nobody else seems to hear him.

“That’s very nice of you to say,” you reply. “Maybe I’ll invite him next time.” Steve looks like he’s about to have a stroke.

“What are your plans to close out the year?” Jenna asks.

You chew another bite of food thoughtfully. “I bought some vodka for New Year’s Eve. I know champagne is the thing to drink, but social norms can’t tell me what to do.” Jenna snorts as if you just told a bad joke. “Oh, and Jill’s on this side of the country for the holidays, so we made plans to meet at the cafe this Sunday at nine.” You turn to Jenna’s parents, who look like they’re about to ask another question. You answer them before they get the chance. “Jill’s a friend from back in Raccoon City.”

“That sounds nice,” Jenna says. “We aren’t planning much ourselves. Probably just gonna play video games and watch movies until midnight on New Year. Dad always wants to shoot off fireworks in the backyard, but Mom never lets him.”

“Because she’s allergic to fun,” Jenna’s father says dryly.

“Because they’re illegal!” the mother corrects.

The rest of the dinner proceeds in a similar fashion. Jenna’s parents share updates about extended family members and brag about their children’s good grades. Jenna only has one semester left before she graduates. It turns out Steve got accepted into the university he was hoping to attend to study computer science, and you’re honestly happy for him. As much as you despise his accusatory nature toward you, he seems like a kid who has a good head on his shoulders. He’s smart, he’s hard-working, and he genuinely cares about his sister.

After dinner, Jenna drags you into the living room to sit down in front of the tree and exchange gifts. You spot the gift you gave her under the tree next to three additional presents, two medium and one small, one of which must be for you. You wonder what the other two presents could be. “Open mine first!” Jenna exclaims as she thrusts one of the medium-sized presents toward you.

You try not to laugh at her enthusiasm as you take the gift and begin to carefully unwrap it. You quickly identify the object inside as a large book. After removing the last bit of wrapping paper, you turn the book over to examine the front cover. “Beyond Recall by Robert Goddard,” you read aloud.

“It’s my favorite murder mystery from last year,” Jenna says. “I know you said it’s your favorite genre, so I think you’ll really love it.”

“Oh, wow, I can’t believe you bothered to remember that,” you laugh. “If it’s as good as you say, I’ll have it read by next Tuesday and we can talk about it!”

Jenna picks up your gift to her, which is significantly larger than the other gifts under the tree. “Can I open mine now?”

You set the book on the floor beside you. “I don’t see anything stopping you.”

Jenna smiles and begins to tear at the paper, revealing a bland cardboard box. “Oh, a box! I’ve always wanted one of these!”

“Ha-ha, I’ve never heard that one before,” you muse.

Jenna snickers and uses one of her long nails to slice through the tape holding the box shut. She opens the cardboard flaps and gasps when she sees what’s inside. It’s a blue and gray striped scarf with the silhouette of a raven knitted onto one end. “(Y/n), it’s gorgeous!”

“That's what Ravenclaw stuff is supposed to look like, right?” you ask nervously. You've never read the books yourself, so you had to prod at your memories of everything she's told you.

“Of course!” Jenna reaches into the box to retrieve the scarf. “Where in the world did you manage to find Ravenclaw merch?”

“I didn’t. It’s custom. Turns out one of the old ladies who likes to visit the antique shop knits a lot, so I commissioned her.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you! Oh my god!” Jenna pulls the scarf out of the box and unfolds it to examine the entire length. As she does so, a slightly smaller box tumbles out of the scarf and into her lap. She sets the scarf aside and picks up the box with curiosity. “Come on, don’t tell me you got me two things!”

You chuckle. “Nah, I only got you the scarf.”

“Then what’s in here?” Jenna asks.

“Why don’t you open it and find out? Just, uh, be careful with it.”

Jenna raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t ask anything else, instead turning her attention back to the box. She carefully opens one end and pulls out a wooden object covered with ornately carved designs. She flips it over in her hand to study it, and after a moment she seems to register what it is and flips out a metal blade. “This is beautiful,” Jenna says as she examines the handle, careful not to cut herself.

“Ever since the campus killer thing, he’s been worried about you defending yourself when you’re alone. He wanted me to get you something crazy, like a grenade launcher or some shit, but I told him that was neither practical nor appropriate for a random civilian with no combat experience. He eventually settled on the pocketknife.”

Jenna looks at you with surprise. “Wait, this is from him?”

“Well, yeah. I told you, I only got you the scarf. I mean, I still technically bought the knife, since he can’t really go out and do it himself, but it was his idea.”

Jenna closes the blade and sets the knife on top of the scarf with a smile. “Gosh, I had no idea he cared enough to want to get me something.”

You shrug. “I mean, you kind of changed our lives, you know? We can actually talk to each other because of you. That’s a huge deal. I’m not surprised he wanted to show some gratitude.”

“Well, tell him I said thank you and I love it,” Jenna says as she reaches toward the other medium box under the tree to hand to you. “Plus, now I don’t feel so weird about getting him something too.”

You laugh as you take the gift. “Oh my god, Jenna, you really didn’t have to get him anything. You’ve already given us so much.”

“But he’s never really gotten a gift, right? I mean, besides the TV you got him. The clothes don’t count, he needed those.”

You shake the box to try to figure out what’s inside. “Well, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I’ll call you later after he opens it and let you know what he thinks.”

Jenna picks up the final, small present under the tree and sets it on top of the present you are already holding. “Oh, uh, and this is for you too. It’s not from me, though. I was just recruited to get it. Like you said, he can’t exactly go out and buy stuff himself.”

You blink in surprise as you stare at the tiny present. “Oh my god, just when I thought I couldn’t love him any more, he goes and pulls this shit. Ugh, I don’t deserve him.”

“Sure you do,” Jenna says. “You’ve been through hell and you deserve to be happy. Both of you.”

You groan and look away. “Sappiness alert, sappiness alert!”

Jenna gives your shoulder a playful shove. “Oh, whatever! You just got done saying how in love you are, and I’m the one being sappy?”

“Touché," you chuckle. You then sigh distantly as you run your fingers over the wrapping paper. "I really appreciate all this. The gifts, the dinner, everything. This is so much better than Thanksgiving was. It... it must be nice to have a family that accepts you for who you are."

You see Jenna's lips twitch uncomfortably, as if she is trying to fight off a frown. "Uh, yeah..." She clears her throat. "I'm just glad that Steve wasn't a total ass. He wasn't too happy when I told him you were coming."

“Maybe I should get going, then. I don’t want to overstay my welcome and give him an aneurysm or something.”

Jenna chortles. “Oh my god, did you see his face when you were talking about your 'boyfriend'? I thought he was going to pass out again.”

“I almost feel bad for him,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Freaking out about something he doesn’t need to freak out about. Other than that, he's got a good head on his shoulders, I think. I’d wish him a happy holiday, but I don’t want him to bite my head off.”

“I know better than to do that.”

You and Jenna both whip around to look behind you. Steve is sitting nonchalantly on the sofa. “Oh my god, Steve, you’re such a creep!” Jenna shouts. “How long have you been sitting there?”

Steve shrugs. “Long enough.”

The three of you stare amongst each other for an awkward moment before you clear your throat. “Well, like I was saying, I don't want to overstay my welcome,” you say stiffly as you get to your feet, presents in tow. “Tell your parents I said happy holidays. And thanks so much for the gifts.”

Jenna smiles nervously. “Don’t mention it. I’ll walk you to the door.” The two of you begin to step out of the living room toward the front hallway.

“Tell your boyfriend the pizza delivery driver said hello,” Steve calls out after you. You ignore him.

Once at the front door, you set down the presents and hurry to put your boots and coat back on. Jenna fidgets beside you. “Don’t worry about Steve, okay? He’s just trying to get on your nerves. He doesn’t know who we were talking about.”

“You sure about that?” you say dryly as you retrieve the presents and stand up straight. “He’s pretty smart for someone so stupid, you know? Or maybe he’s pretty stupid for someone so smart. Either way, he’s trying awfully hard to nose his way into shit he shouldn’t be messing with. I don't want him to get hurt. I don't want _anyone_ to get hurt.”

Jenna sighs. “Well I don’t want you to stress out about him. I’ll keep him in line. Just go home and relax with Nemesis, alright?”

“If you say so,” you say as Jenna opens the front door for you. You are immediately struck by the bitter cold of the winter night. “I’ll give you a call later, alright?”

“Sounds good,” Jenna says with a forced smile, and you step out onto the front porch. “Have a good night. And merry Christmas!” With that, she shuts the door, leaving you alone in the dark.

God, it's going to take all your strength not to crack open that bottle of vodka early.

* * *

As you push open the front door of the cabin, you are greeted by a rush of warm air. Setting the presents down so that you can kick off your boots and shrug off your coat, you notice that a fire has been lit in the fireplace. A smile tugs at your lips as your eyes fall on Nemesis sitting on the sofa in front of the television, which is displaying a scene from some old black and white holiday movie, but he doesn’t seem to be paying much attention. He turns to look at you as you pick up the presents and approach to plop down on the sofa beside him.

“You sneaky son of a bitch, getting me a gift,” you say as you lean into him. He purrs and wraps an arm around you to pull you against his side. You lift the medium-sized present toward him. “Jenna got you something.”

He grunts with surprise as he takes the box from your hands and sets it in his lap. He lifts his hands to sign. _-Did Jenna like her gift?-_

You smile fondly. Over the last month, Nemesis’ signing has vastly improved. While his sentences are still somewhat choppy from time to time, he’s nearly mastered the grammar of the language. Honestly, he’s already become better at signing than you, and you had a two week head start. “She loved it,” you say. “She said the handle was beautiful. Plus, I think she’ll find it more useful than a grenade launcher.”

Nemesis huffs before turning his attention to the box. He tears away the wrapping paper with little care and discards it onto the floor. You’ll throw it in the fire whenever you get up again. Once the paper is out of the way, he pries open the top of the cardboard box and examines what is inside. It is filled with various VHS tapes and a note.

Nemesis takes the note and hands it to you for you to read aloud. “Dear Nemesis, when (y/n) told me she was getting you a TV with a VCR for Christmas, I just knew I had to get you some movies for it. Since you’ve never watched TV before I assume you don’t really have a favorite genre yet, so I just included a bunch of my favorites. They were on sale, so I grabbed a whole bunch! It’s the least I can do to thank you not only for saving my life, but also opening my eyes to be less judgmental of others. Teaching you and (y/n) sign is a joy, and I hope we can remain friends for many years to come. Merry Christmas, Jenna.” You smile and set the note on the end table. “Aw, that’s so nice of her. What’ve we got?” The two of you begin to sort through the tapes in the box. Jaws, Star Wars, The Terminator, Alien, Ghostbusters, Back to the Future, Apollo 13, Jurassic Park, Raiders of the Lost Ark, The Day the Earth Stood Still. It seems Jenna likes sci-fi.

 _-Thank Jenna for me.-_ He picks up the Jaws tape and hands it to you. _-Want to watch shark first.-_

You chuckle at his eagerness. “Alright, we can have a movie night. But first,” you say as you set the tape aside and pick up the small present still sitting in your lap. “I want to see what you got me.”

Nemesis immediately sits up straight and sets the box of VHS tapes on the floor. He watches intently as you start to unwrap the gift. He almost seems nervous. _-Jenna helped with the idea.-_

“Well, I wouldn’t expect you to know what to get me without some help,” you say. “You’ve never given a gift before, and you can’t exactly go window shopping.” You hum as you remove the last of the paper, revealing a small black box. You carefully open it and gasp at what is inside.

The box contains a necklace. It is a brilliant red gemstone, possibly a garnet, wrapped in ornate spirals of metal wire. It invokes the image of a heart gently entwined with golden tendrils, and you don’t doubt that this is intentional. You turn to look at your mate as you try not to cry.

“It’s gorgeous,” you whisper, and he appears to practically melt with relief. You remove the necklace from the box and place it around your neck, fastening the clip on the back. You shift sideways to face him head-on. “How do I look?”

He doesn’t hesitate at all to sign his response. _-Beautiful.-_

An obvious blush spreads across your face as he reaches out to caress your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to eye-level. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, you know that?” you whisper before kissing his face. He nestles his face against your neck, and you hum contently. For the first time in a while, you manage to forget about all the problems permeating your life and just focus on the current moment. You reach up a hand and turn his head to face you again so you can press your lips against his teeth. They quickly part and his tongue is soon entwined with yours in a sloppy kiss.

He growls seductively as he pushes you onto your back. He hovers possessively over you while his hands feel across your body, and you pull away from the kiss with a mischievous grin. You know where this is going. “Is there something you want?” you ask innocently.

He rumbles deep in his chest as he signs. _-Want mate.-_

The sound and feeling of his chest vibrating as he growls alluringly sends waves of excitement throughout your body. One of your hands finds its way to the hem of his shirt and slips underneath the fabric. His grip on your hips strengthens, likely leaving finger-shaped bruises on your skin. You look at him with the best bedroom eyes you can muster.

“Why don’t you take me, then?”

His hands don’t waste any time finding their way underneath your shirt to pull the article of clothing over your head. You raise your arms over your head so that he can slip them out of your sleeves, but when you move to lower your arms and unclasp you bra, he grabs both wrists with a tentacle and holds them in place above you with a low growl. He reaches to unclasp the bra himself, struggling with it for a while before finally figuring it out and throwing it to the side. Only the necklace remains against your bare chest, and he gently runs a finger along the chain, admiring how it looks on you.

His large, rough hands move downward to continue to explore your body, palming at your sides, shoulders, and breasts. You squirm beneath his touch, wanting so badly to touch him back. You strain your neck in an attempt to reach his face and kiss him, but he coyly moves his head just out of reach, and you whimper pathetically. It is clear that he wants total control of the situation, and you are content to let him have it.

A dark laugh reverberates throughout his body before he lowers his mouth to your breasts and begins to lick one of your nipples. You arch your body up into him with a desperate groan, an undeniable want growing in your core. “P-please!” you gasp, and you see his eye dart up to gaze at your flushed face. He draws away from you and cocks his head, silently urging you to beg harder than that. You’re so turned on at this point that you couldn’t care less about sacrificing your dignity and begging. You’ll gladly submit to him in exchange for what he’ll give in return. “Please just fuck me!”

His chest rumbles as he leans in to kiss you, forcing his tongue through your lips and into your mouth. You lift your hips up for him as he reaches down with one hand and removes your pants and underwear, leaving you completely naked and vulnerable beneath your fully clothed mate.

Nemesis pulls away from you and reaches for his own pants, tugging them over his growing erection. You subconsciously lick your lips at the sight. How long has it been since he last fucked you? Too long. Definitely too long. You tremble with anticipation as he wraps his massive hands around your thighs and lifts your ass off the sofa. You wrap your legs around his waist and try to pull him toward you, but he doesn’t budge. He gives you a scolding growl, as if asking you when you’re finally going to just give yourself up entirely to him. You take the hint and relax your legs but keep them wrapped around his waist.

It suddenly occurs to you that there was once a brief time when you felt like you had some semblance of power over Nemesis. You now understand that he listens to you and protects you simply because he wants to, not because of any power on your part. You almost feel stupid to have ever believed you were in control, not just because it wasn’t true, but because you much prefer having no control over him at all. The only person you want control over is _yourself_. And he deserves to have control over _himself_.

Even so, he could crush the life out of your fragile body without a second thought, yet he doesn’t, and something about that is exhilarating. You crave to be at the mercy of such uncontained strength. He can have all the control right now. You don’t want it. You can't say that for anyone else. He's the only one you trust like that.

He brings a hand to your folds and coats his fingers in your arousal, and you nearly convulse at his touch. You’re never this horny and sensitive; it has definitely been too long since you last fucked. He uses your wetness to lubricate his cock, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from whining impatiently. You need him inside you, and you need him inside you _now_. As if he can read your thoughts, he quickly finishes preparing himself and returns his hand to your thigh. You watch eagerly as he aligns himself and presses the head of his cock into you, and you sigh with sweet relief. _Fucking. Finally_.

Nemesis pushes the rest of the way into you, and you let out a sigh of contentment. He’s never fucked you in this position before, and you study the novel view carefully. Your eyes widen when you realize that your lower abdomen is literally bulging in the effort to accommodate his size. If that isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen, then you don’t know what is. No wonder this used to hurt so bad. As he pulls out and then thrusts back in, you also have a clear view of his cock reappearing and disappearing inside of you and your abdomen distending along with it. You desperately want to run your hands over your stomach and feel him from the outside, but they are still tightly grasped in the tentacle above your head. Simply watching will have to do this time, but you’ll remember this for the future.

Another thrust hits your sweet spot perfectly, and you throw your head back and cry out in sheer pleasure. Nemesis growls as he continues to thrust, hitting that spot again and again until you are completely incoherent. You’ve grown so accustomed to the brutality of your lover that you doubt a normal human dick could ever pleasure you again. Not that you would ever find yourself with a normal human lover. Nemesis has laid claim to your heart, and you won’t ever let anyone else have it.

A new sensation overtakes you as a multitude of tentacles begin to wrap around your body, sliding across every erogenous zone you can think of and then some. He's never used this many on you at once, and you feel like you could drown in their sweet caresses. Normal human lovers are out of the question for sure.

You arch your back and scream your mate’s name as you finally peak, your muscles tightening around him. He grunts at the sudden pressure around his cock as he continues his desperate thrusting, and you ride the high of your orgasm as long as you can before your body goes limp beneath him. His powerful movements rock your body back and forth along the sofa, and you suddenly feel the tentacle around your wrists tighten as he comes with a loud roar. Your legs twitch as his warm seed pours into you, the raised position of your abdomen preventing any of it from leaking out as it seeps deep within you. You sigh at the warm feeling spreading through your womb; there’s so much of it.

If not for the pill, how easy would it be for you to conceive after being filled so abundantly? With balls like that, he’s practically built to breed. You ponder how Umbrella had been so surprised by the opportunity to breed new Tyrants while you were their prisoner. Why would they create B.O.W.s with such effective genitalia without any intention to breed them? Perhaps those parts just happened to scale up with the rest of their bodies and nobody thought it worthwhile to do anything about it? Thinking about it makes you feel weirdly hot.

Nemesis pulls out of you and gently lowers your ass back onto the sofa. He finally releases your wrists from his tight grasp, and you reach your arms out toward him longingly. After pulling his pants back up over himself, his arms wrap around you to pick you up as if you weigh nothing. He adjusts himself comfortably on the sofa and sits you on his lap with a content purr. Before you can get too comfortable and murmur any soft words fueled by the afterglow, he grabs something from the floor and hands it to you. You nearly laugh as you take it from his hands.

“Right. Jaws. How could I forget?”

You can’t say you’ve ever spent the holidays getting fucked and then watching a movie about sharks while naked, but you suppose there’s a first for everything.


	11. Tentative Truce

_Sunday, December 27, 1998_

“(Y/n)! Sorry I’m late.”

You look up from your coffee to see a familiar woman who has approached you in the corner of the café. Your eyes light up at the sight of her. “Jill! Glad you could make it! It’s what, like, five minutes past nine? That’s not late.”

“Every second counts.” Jill takes a seat across from you and sets her own cup on the table. It looks and smells like tea rather than coffee. “It’s good to see you again. It’s hard to believe it’s already been three months.”

“I know, it’s crazy. How have you been since then?”

“I’m not going to lie and say I’m fantastic, but I’m managing,” Jill answers. “This shit changes you, makes it difficult just to sleep at night. It’s nerve-wracking, but at least I’m more motivated than I’ve ever been.”

“I understand. I had so many nightmares while I was in the hospital, they had to medicate me. They wanted me to see a therapist too, but then I’d just have to lie a bunch and then I’d have even more issues.” You shake your head before taking a sip of coffee. “What’ve you been doing with this newfound motivation of yours?”

“Well, ever since S.T.A.R.S. fell apart I’d been working entirely on my own investigation of Umbrella. But with all my work destroyed in RC, I had to build from the ground up again. I started compiling a list of Umbrella facility locations, but without any backing I couldn’t really do anything with it. I'm going to need support if I'm going to accomplish anything, so I’ve been searching for my old coworker Chris. He’s got experience with bioterrorism, and I know he’d be willing to help. But ever since the RC Incident, he’s been impossible to track down.”

“What about Carlos?” you ask. “Couldn’t he help you out?”

Jill shakes her head. “To be honest, I haven’t heard too much from Carlos, and when I have heard from him, he hasn’t been willing to share much. I think he’s trying to lay low.”

You nod. You suppose that’s understandable, but Carlos never struck you as the kind of guy to just let something like this go. “Well, I doubt there’s anything I can do to help, but you know where to find me if you need me.”

“I appreciate that. What about you? How have you been faring?”

You aren’t sure you have a definitive answer. “Things are on the upswing right now, but there’s definitely been some struggles. I guess I’m doing the same as you. Not fantastic, just managing.”

“You look a lot better than how I left you, at least.”

“Yeah, the hospital took good care of me,” you say. “I handled it a lot better than I expected, considering, well, everything. I was there for nine days.”

“Nine days, huh? How did Nemesis handle it?”

“I mean, I guess he handled it okay? He was still sitting where I left him when I got back. I don’t think he moved at all for those nine days. You should have seen his face when I stepped through the door.”

“Sounds like he’s still got it bad for you.” Jill goes to take a sip of tea.

You shrug. “Better wanting me in bed than wanting you dead, I guess.” Jill practically snorts her drink out her nose at your stupid rhyme, and you laugh at her reaction.

She takes a moment to recover before speaking again. “How is he adjusting to domestic life?”

You take a sip of your own drink as you ponder her question. “Better than I expected, I suppose. I’ve been teaching him to read and write. He’s already reading at a fourth-grade level. Oh, and I got him a TV for Christmas. He’s really taken to that. I do feel kind of bad for him sometimes though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I want him to just be able to do whatever he wants, you know? Explore life a little. Just go outside for once. But he can’t. People would freak out if they knew about him. They’d just see him as a monster even though he’s not. I mean, of all the people who’ve found out about him, only half of them took it even remotely well, and that was after the initial bouts of screaming in terror.”

Jill frowns. “There are others who know about him?”

You sigh. “Unfortunately, yes. It wasn't on purpose or anything, I'm not stupid. You’d think that being as isolated as we are would be enough, right? Turns out people just have a way of digging up shit that wasn’t meant for them.”

“How many are there?”

“Besides you and Carlos and Umbrella? Four. First there’s my friend Jenna. I met her here in this café, and we hit it off after she told me she’s studying to become an ASL interpreter. I thought I could learn it and then teach Nemesis so that we could communicate. Turns out teaching ASL is harder than just learning it. Then there was this whole incident where she was being followed by some serial killer, and she came to the cabin for help. The guy broke into the house and attacked us, but Nemesis took him out.” You wave your hands dramatically. “And thus, the secret was out to Jenna. She adjusted fast, though. She’s been visiting my house every week to teach him ASL. They got each other Christmas gifts and everything. She’s a great person and I’m lucky to have her.”

“So you two can speak to each other now?” Jill asks. “What kind of stuff does he have to say?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Just normal couple stuff, I guess. He’s still not terribly talkative, but I don’t mind.”

“Who are the other three people?”

You sigh. “Well, the first person to find out about him was actually Jenna’s younger brother, Steve. It was just a combination of stupid decisions on everyone’s part. I was stupid and ordered pizzas. Steve was stupid and tried to snoop around while delivering the pizzas. Nemesis was stupid and didn’t stay in the back of the house like I told him. Steve hasn’t told anyone but Jenna, but since she already knows, it’s not really a big deal. But he hates me. He thinks I’m planning to hurt his sister.” You rub your eyes. “I would never hurt her. Neither would Nemesis. It’s just a bunch of misunderstandings and it really sucks. But I can’t pull Steve aside and explain that to him without admitting the truth.”

Jill nods solemnly. “And the other two?”

You cover your face with your hands. “My fucking parents.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah, I know. They thought they’d be nice and surprise me with an unannounced visit on Thanksgiving. I won’t go into detail about how it all went down, but they found out. Dad straight-up disowned me. Turns out my only purpose to him was to pop out babies and carry on his family name. I can’t believe some of the things he said to me. Even the things he said to Nemesis were disgusting. He’s a sick bastard. Mom, on the other hand, at least tried to be supportive. She was obviously confused and freaked out, which is understandable, but she wasn’t an asshole. She just asked a lot of questions. I trust her to some extent, but my Dad? After the whole ordeal happened, I had this horrific nightmare that he doxed us to Umbrella. I spend every day now wondering if this is the day he’s gonna call them up and tell them he found their missing bioweapon and the random civilian who stole him.”

Jill drums her fingers against the side of her cup. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something to help you out, but I’m in no position to do anything right now. I’d tell you to be more careful, but it sounds to me like only the incident with the pizza kid was your fault. Everyone else just kind of came straight to you without warning.”

“Like moths to a flame,” you mutter. “Hell, I’m a moth too. I’m bound to get burned eventually. I mean, more so than I already have. I’m so hopelessly enamored by that flame that I won’t ever fly anywhere else. Just like a stupid little moth.”

“I’d say you’re more like a moth attracted to a light bulb,” Jill says. “Sure, the inside of the light bulb is inherently dangerous, but the outside keeps it contained.”

You smile faintly and fidget with your necklace. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That necklace is pretty. Where’d you get it?”

“Oh, uh, it was a gift from Nemesis. Jenna helped him pick it out, I guess.”

“He got you jewelry? Wow, he never struck me as a romantic,” Jill teases.

“Pfft, he’s not just a romantic,” you say. “He’s a hopeless romantic. He has no idea what he’s doing, yet he still tries so hard. It’s so endearing. Honestly, those few weeks where I was still looking for a new job were some of the best weeks ever, just staying home and spending time with him. And we couldn’t even talk to each other at that point.”

“It sounds like you’ve still got it bad for him too,” Jill says. “I never imagined someone having chemistry with a _bioweapon_ , but here we are. Have you two ever even disagreed about anything? I think you convincing him not to kill me was the closest thing I’ve ever seen to an argument.”

“We’ve had our moments,” you say. “I gave him the cold shoulder after the pizza delivery incident, but then he started being a crybaby bitch about it and I broke down. And don’t even get me started on the mirror incident.”

“What was the mirror incident?” Jill asks with intrigue.

“He kept freaking out for some reason the first few days we were in the cabin. The first time he just went into this weird trance in the middle of the bathroom. When it happened a second time, I tried to talk him out of it, and then he just punched the mirror in the bathroom and shattered it. Then he acted all weird and distant around me. I did ask him about it once, but he just changed the subject.”

Jill hums thoughtfully. "So both times were in the bathroom, and he hasn't done it since breaking the mirror?"

"Yeah?"

“He’s not stupid, but… could he have thought it was another B.O.W. in the mirror?”

“Like you just said, he's not stupid.”

Jill frowns. “Well, it obviously has something to do with the mirror. Could it be an insecurity thing? I mean, no offense, but he isn’t exactly easy on the eyes.”

“That’s ridiculous. People develop insecurities by comparing themselves to other people, and there’s nobody for him to compare himself to. Jenna and I are the only people he’s in contact with, and we don’t give a shit about what he looks like. I mean, I guess I give a shit. But in a good way, you know? Say what you want, but I think he’s very attractive.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Probably?”

Jill takes another sip of tea. “I’m not a relationship counselor by any means, but I've been around the block. I think you should try talking to him about it again. You say he doesn’t have anyone to compare himself to, but that’s not true. He watches television, he reads books. He was in contact with a lot of people prior to moving in with you. _He_ might not care what he looks like, but maybe he's afraid that _you_ care.”

You rub your face with your hands and groan. “God, stop making sense. I just want him to be happy, dammit. I just want people to leave him the fuck alone. I’m so tired of worrying about people being afraid and horrified and disgusted. Why can’t… why can’t people just see him the way I do? I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but now I have to worry about his self-image because other people can’t bear to be accepting of someone who’s different. If I find out he feels that way, it’ll break my fucking heart.”

“If you find out feels that way, then you’ll have the opportunity to help build his emotional intelligence,” Jill corrects. “Get him to tell you how he feels. And then tell him how you feel. Be honest with each other. Communication is important in a healthy relationship. The fact that you are teaching him to read and write and sign is a good first step. Now you need to actually use those skills in a productive way.”

You sigh. “I know, I know. I guess I can try talking to him about it again.”

Jill nods. “Just remember that relationships need to be nurtured with work and time. Even relationships with bioweapons, I guess.”

“You’re right. Thanks for the advice, Jill. Sorry for bogging you down with emotional crap. We should be catching up, not having a therapy session.”

“It’s no big deal. Talking about the complexities of your relationship just further proves your point of how human he is.” She drinks the rest of her tea and sets the empty cup on the table. “But yes, catching up. Let’s get back to that. See any good movies lately? Read any good books?”

You smile, thankful for the change to a more lighthearted subject. “Actually, Jenna got me this book for Christmas called Beyond Recall. I just started it, but it’s good so far.”

“What’s it about?”

As you start to relay the plot of the book to Jill, it strikes you just how bizarre this is. Just three months ago the two of you were fighting for your lives. Now you’re sitting in a café discussing something as trivial as a book. Casual conversation just doesn’t suit Jill in your eyes. She’s a badass survivor trying to take down a massive corporation, yet here she is taking the time to converse with you about civilian nonsense. Despite your reservations, she doesn’t seem to mind at all, actively engaging in the conversation. You wonder if this is the first chance she’s had to just relax and act like everything is normal.

Before you know it, two hours have passed, and the single sip of coffee that remains in your cup has run disgustingly cold. You can hardly even recall what you both talked about this entire time; books, movies, plans for New Year, recent events, government proceedings regarding Raccoon City. It’s all a cloud in your mind as the conversation lulls and Jill starts to gather her things.

“Well, it’s eleven o’clock. I should probably get back on the road,” Jill says as she stands from her seat.

“It was really great to see you again, especially under less stressful circumstances,” you say. “Keep me updated about your progress. And good luck finding that coworker of yours.”

Jill smiles warmly. “It was great seeing you again, too. It feels like I hardly got to know you back in RC, so it was nice to sit down and just talk. Oh, and be sure to tell Nemesis I said hello.”

You nod and smile. “Sure thing. He’ll be glad to hear you’re surviving out there.”

“And to think he used to want me dead,” Jill chuckles. “You two have a happy New Year, alright? We’ll keep in touch.”

“Same to you!” You watch as Jill strides confidently across the café and out the front door, discarding her empty cup in the trash along the way. You’ve really come to admire her strength and confidence. If anyone will play a part in Umbrella’s downfall, certainly it will be her. You sit at the table for a few minutes longer in silence, staring into your nearly empty cup and contemplating her words.

* * *

End credits flash across the screen of the television as you sit on your mate’s lap on the sofa. One of his hands is wrapped around you, holding you close. His other hand rests in your lap, entwined with one of your own hands. You honestly haven’t been paying much attention to the movie. You’ve seen Alien so many times that you can quote it. You’re more focused on Nemesis, your earlier conversation with Jill playing through your head on repeat. Insecurity. Is it really possible that he feels that way?

You reach for the remote with your free hand and shut off the TV before looking up at him. “What did you think?”

_-Interesting. Amusingly violent.-_

You scoff at him. “You would think that.” You set the remote aside and snuggle up against his chest with a sigh. He’s wearing slacks but no shirt, allowing you to directly feel the warmth of his skin. You really want to talk to him about what Jill said, but you’re afraid to bring up something that will upset him. What if he just tries to divert the conversation again?

_-Want to talk?-_

Ah, he can tell something is on your mind. You squeeze his hand and garner all the emotional strength in you. “Actually, I wanted to ask you about-“

_Knock knock knock._

You sigh irritably. What could Jenna possibly want on a Sunday evening? You fumble your way out of Nemesis’ lap and toward the door, and he grumbles lowly, clearly also irritated at having your personal time interrupted. You open the door with a scowl. “Jenna, what are you-“

Maybe you should have looked through the peephole first.

“Uh, hey-“

You slam the door in Steve’s face. You quickly turn and sign for Nemesis to go hide in the bedroom.

“Come on, don’t be like that!” Steve’s muffled voice yells from the other side of the door. “I just want to talk!”

“Yeah, and I just want to take over the world,” you shout back as you watch Nemesis disappear down the hallway.

“I’m serious!” Steve yells. “I come in peace!”

“And why exactly am I supposed to believe that you suddenly don’t hate me anymore?”

There is a pause before Steve speaks again, a little less confidently this time. “Well, I kind of overheard some stuff at the café this morning and I-“

Steve jumps as you slam the door back open, angry beyond recognition. “Were you fucking stalking me?”

“N-no! I mean, maybe? I mean, I can explain!”

“You better get explaining then,” you fume.

Steve takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “When you and Jenna were talking about your boyfriend over Christmas dinner, I thought it was some kind of sick joke. I thought she’d told you about what I saw, and that you two thought it would be funny to mess with me.” He wrings his hands together. “But then I watched you guys exchange gifts. Real, physical gifts. Talking about him getting her the knife and her getting him stuff and all that. And at that point, you guys had no idea I was even in the room, so I knew you weren’t joking anymore. You were talking about a real fucking person. I confronted Jenna about it after you left, and she just got all mad at me and wouldn’t tell me anything. I was just really confused at that point. You couldn’t have been threatening her into silence, she was much too comfortable around you. I needed to get to the bottom of this, and luckily you dropped the information that you were visiting a friend at the café on Sunday at nine during dinner.

"Oh my god," you mutter under your breath.

"So, I showed up and waited for you to get there, then sat at the table behind you so that you wouldn’t see me. And then I listened. I listened to all of it. You were talking about terrorism and weapons and Umbrella Corporation and something called Nemesis, and then you told your friend about how the conflict between us is just a big misunderstanding, and how you’d never hurt Jenna, and how you just want people to leave you the fuck alone, and good god, I have no idea what’s going on anymore. I’m not here to do any harm. I just want some fucking closure. What the fuck is going on?”

You stare hard at him, and he sweats nervously under your gaze. He looks genuinely concerned, but you know better than to trust looks. “You’re recording this, aren’t you? Where’s the microphone? Camera, maybe?”

Steve holds up his hands innocently. “I’m not, I swear! It’s just me, the clothes on my back, my wallet, and some car keys. That’s it.”

You look him over from head to toe. Are you really going to do this? This could be your opportunity to finally get this kid off your back. Or, it could be your opportunity to really fuck things up. You sigh. “Take your shoes and coat off and leave them outside.”

“Why?"

"In case you have any recording equipment on you, dumbass."

"I just said that I don't!"

"And you think I'm just going to believe that?"

Steve sighs, then removes his coat and shoes and sets them on the porch before turning back to you expectantly. "There, happy?"

“You got a shirt on under that hoodie?”

“Yeah?”

“Take the hoodie off too, then.”

Steve begrudgingly follows your command, slipping the hoodie over his head and leaving him in nothing but his socks, jeans, and a t-shirt. He holds his arms from the cold, goosebumps forming across his dark skin. "God, I hate winter," he mumbles.

You shake your head and step aside with a frown. “Alright, get in."

"What do you think I am, crazy?" Steve gawks. "I'm not going into your house."

You scowl back at him. "Well I'm not going to stand out in the cold to talk just because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" Steve jabs back.

"Then come inside."

Steve grumbles incoherently and stares past you into the empty living room. Seemingly making up his mind, he begins to step forward. You suddenly hold up a hand as he moves to enter, and he stops dead with a flinch.

“You will go immediately to the armchair, and you will sit in the armchair. You will not get up. You will not look around. You will not touch anything. You will not make any loud noises. You will not interrupt me while I am talking. If I tell you to do something, you will do it. Do you understand?”

Steve nods a confirmation, and you lower your hand. He slips inside and makes a beeline for the armchair. You watch him carefully as you close the front door and walk over slowly to sit on the sofa. The two of you sit in momentary silence, with you staring into the lit fireplace and him staring at you.

“What is it that I saw on Halloween?”

You sigh deeply and lean back against the sofa, still staring into the fire. “You sound like you’ve been trying to piece this together for a while. What do _you_ think you saw?”

Steve frowns contemplatively. “I don’t have a fucking clue what it was. But if I’m putting this together correctly, then boyfriend seems to be you and Jenna's weird codeword for it.”

“First thing’s first, you will refer to him as _he_ or _him_ , not _it_. He is a human-based bioweapon genetically engineered by Umbrella Corporation. His name is Nemesis.”

Steve furrows his brow. “Why would Umbrella engineer a bioweapon?”

You snort mockingly. “Because they’re a corrupt mega corporation with a gazillion dollars in funding for genetic research that can be used to supply military technology and make even more money? Or, I dunno, maybe because there are allegations against them regarding the T-virus outbreak in Raccoon City all over the news? Have you been living under a rock?”

Steve takes a moment to process this information before asking his next question. “But why do you have it? I mean him.”

“He was released in Raccoon City during the outbreak to hunt down S.T.A.R.S. members. S.T.A.R.S. was a special police force that had been onto Umbrella prior to the outbreak. Jill was one of them. I happened to run into him while I was fleeing some zombies, and we, uh, well, bonded. Anyway, he decided that sticking around with a potential mate would be more rewarding than following Umbrella’s orders. A lot of shit went down, but we got through it, and now here we are.”

“Woah, wait, what do you mean by potential mate?”

You roll your eyes. “Do you think I call him my boyfriend around other people just for the hell of it? We’re mates. Not that hard to understand.”

Steve narrows his eyes. "You... You're in a relationship... with... a bioweapon?"

"Yes."

Steve just looks more confused than ever. "Like... a _real_ relationship?"

You cross your arms. "The hell do you mean by 'real relationship'?"

“I mean… do you…” He forms a circle with his thumb and index finger, then jams his other index finger through the hole.

You throw your hands into the air. “Why does everyone need to know that!? You wouldn’t ask a normal couple that question, would you? No, you wouldn’t!”

Steve goes quiet for a moment. “…But _do you_?”

You groan. “For fuck’s sake! Of course we fuck! Would you like me to go into excruciating detail, since you’re being so adamant about it?”

“God, no!” Steve practically screams. “I mean, uh, I’m sorry. That was a personal question, I guess.”

You just shake your head and glare at him. “Well, do you have your closure now? Do you understand what’s going on? Or do you have any more prying questions?”

“Why does Jenna visit your house every Tuesday?”

You make a few signs with your hands. “She’s not lying about that part. She really is teaching me ASL. It’s just that she’s also teaching Nemesis. His mutations prevent him from speaking very well, so it’s a way for us to finally communicate.”

Steve nods before he nervously taps his fingers against the arms of the chair. “Can I… see him?”

You stare blankly. “What do you think he is, a fucking zoo exhibit?”

“Of course not,” Steve replies hastily. “It’s just… my eyes didn’t really register what they were seeing that night. And ever since then my brain has been reeling trying to fill in the blanks, and I think what it keeps coming up with is worse than reality, and I keep having these awful dreams about it, and I just want to put the uncertainty to rest. I want to get a good look at him. I want to understand. Please, it’s the last thing I’ll ask, and then I’ll leave, and I'll never bother you ever again.”

You must admit, the idea of never having to deal with Steve ever again is tempting. And you know what it’s like to have repetitive nightmares; you wouldn’t wish it upon anybody. With a defeated sigh, you scoot over to the end of the sofa closest to Steve to make room, then lean back over the sofa to face the hallway. “Nemesis! There’s someone here who wants to meet you!” you shout.

Steve sits tensely as he listens to a door opening in the back of the house followed by footsteps much too heavy to be made by a normal man. A massive figure emerges into the living room, and Steve struggles to fight off his usual fear-induced loss of consciousness. His hands dig into the armchair as you gesture for Nemesis to come sit beside you on the sofa, which he does. He then turns to glare directly at Steve with a look of both distrust and curiosity.

“Steve, this is Nemesis,” you say. “Nemesis, this is Steve, Jenna’s little brother. AKA the pizza delivery guy that you nearly frightened to death.”

_-Pizza?-_

You chuckle. “No, he didn’t bring any pizza.” Nemesis grumbles with disappointment. You turn to look at Steve. “Well? Is he everything you hoped for?”

Steve stammers for a moment before managing to form a coherent sentence. “He’s fucking ripped! God, how tall is he?”

“Eight feet,” you proudly state.

Steve shakes his head with disbelief. “How does he not kill you?”

You place your head in your hands. “I swear to god-“

“I-I didn’t mean it like _that_!” Steve quickly interjects. “I just meant, how does he not hurt you? Ugh, wait, no. How do you… how does he… uh…”

“I get it,” you interrupt. "Just because he's stronger than a regular human doesn't mean he has any less control over that strength. He has incredible coordination and restraint. He can be just as gentle as he can be destructive." As if to prove your point, Nemesis effortlessly lifts you off the sofa and sets you on his lap. “Pfft, show off,” you scold, and he lets out a low laugh.

_-Yes.-_

"So... he really can't speak?" Steve asks.

"I mean, he can speak to some extent. It's just not very efficient."

"What does he sound like?"

You roll your eyes and turn to Nemesis. "Care to show off some more?"

_-What word?-_

You turn to Steve. “Give him a word.”

Steve looks taken aback at being put on the spot. “I dunno, my name I guess?”

You cross your arms as Nemesis leans forward and rumbles in his chest. “ _No_ ,” he growls. You break out laughing as Steve looks on in horror.

“Holy shit, that’s terrifying,” he states plainly.

“More like holy shit, that’s hilarious,” you manage to say through sporadic giggles. “He just straight up told you no. Holy shit.” You break out laughing again at the look on his face. It’s been forever since you’ve laughed this hard.

“Well if you’re done showing off your, uh, mate, then I should probably mention that there’s actually two reasons I came to talk to you today,” Steve finally says.

You wipe a tear from your eye as you slowly calm down. “Well, your first reason was to get answers, yes? And you have those now, yes? What’s your second reason?”

Steve glares at the floor. “I want to get revenge on Jenna.”

The last hints of laughter fade from your eyes at the solemn expression on his face. “Wait, what? I thought you were trying to protect her this whole time.”

“I was. I still am. I don’t want any physical harm to come to her or anything. I just want to fuck with her emotions, just like she did to me.”

You frown. “What are you talking about?”

“When Jenna wouldn’t tell me what was happening on Christmas, do you know how much that hurt? Because it fucking hurt. Jenna and I tell each other everything, and I mean _everything_. When the world is trying to fuck us up, we’ve got each other. That’s why it hurt so much when she wouldn’t believe my story about what I saw. And that’s why it hurt even more when I pieced together that she _did_ believe me, because she’d seen it too, and she just hid it from me. I can’t decide if I hate you or not, (y/n). I should hate you because you took my sister away from me. But I shouldn’t hate you because you make her so god damned happy. You’re her first real friend in a long time. And now, after everything you’ve told me, I think you probably make her feel like she’s part of something bigger.”

You furrow your brow. “Alright, so you’re mad that she kept a secret. What exactly do I have to do with getting revenge?”

“Simple. She kept a secret from me, so I’m going to do the exact opposite. I’m going to tell you her secret.”

You frown. "Steve, I don't think you should-"

"Jenna's a lesbian."

You raise an eyebrow. "Wow, I... Is that supposed to bother me or something? She likes women. Big deal."

Steve chuckles darkly. "There's more."

You sigh. "Steve, this is stupid."

“No, you know what's stupid? How dense you are."

"Excuse me?"

"In fact, let me tell you all about how dense you are," Steve continues. "For someone raised in a nice, normal, church-going family, Jenna’s a real kinky bitch. She’s got a thing for danger, see. You know how straight women have a thing for bad boys? Well, she’s got a thing for bad girls. And good god, you should have seen how enamored she was when she first heard all the rumors going around about the new lady in town. She survived the zombie apocalypse, they said. She lost a finger in the fight, they said. She’s got secrets to hide, a bloody past, or at least a bloody coat. She’s brooding and mysterious, that new lady. She’s dangerous and bad. And damn it all if Jenna wasn’t gonna go for it. Then one day Jenna happens to see this lady all alone in the café, looking a bit down and out, and she takes the opportunity by the throat. Jenna meets up with this lady twice, even gets her to meet her family, and they become friends. And then when Jenna gets followed by a serial killer, she goes straight to her new friend's house for protection, because she’s a badass who survived the fucking apocalypse. Surely, she’ll know what to do, right? And that’s when poor Jenna finds out her cute little crush is already taken, swept off her feet by someone, or _something_ , even more badass than herself. But Jenna keeps hanging out with this lady anyway. She even goes out of her way to help nurture her friend's existing relationship, because he makes her friend happy, because she just loves her friend that fucking much. And the entire time, this friend is completely unaware of what’s really going on. Completely unaware that _Jenna is fucking in love with you_.”

God. Dammit.

You find yourself growing tenser the longer Steve rambles on, flinching when he delivers that last line. You open your mouth to say something, but you aren’t sure what to say.

Nemesis grumbles and raises his hands in front of you. _-Mate is mine.-_

You would laugh if you weren’t so mortified. You hold his hands and bring them to your lap. “Oh, calm down.” You turn to Steve. “I... I don't... This isn’t going to change anything,” you finally say, but your voice is shaky. “Jenna and I will still be friends. It’s fine. And she’ll get over me and find someone else.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Steve says. “She’s not getting over it. The more time she spends with you, the harder she falls for you. She says you got these badass scars all over your body. I’m not gonna ask how she saw that, but she was sold at that point. She won’t shut the fuck up about you. You might think you’re doing the right thing by being her friend, but you’re really hurting her.”

You purse your lips. “I can see what you’re doing. You're trying to chase me off. I don’t know if it’s because you’re still trying to protect her, or because you’re trying to get revenge on her, or because you’re just jealous that she’s spending more time with me than you, but I’m not having it. She’s young, but she's still an adult who can handle her emotions, and I don’t think you’re giving her enough credit. She’s smart. It might not seem like it now, but she will move on.”

"Why aren't you taking this harder?" Steve says with exasperation.

"Because I'm too old for your high-school-level drama, and I'm already pretty preoccupied with more important issues like, oh, I don't know, bioterrorism," you quip. "Why are you so intent on me taking it harder?"

Steve stares hard at the ground. He almost looks like he’s about to cry. “I just want things to go back to the way they were before you showed up!”

“But things change, Steve. That’s just reality. So what if Jenna kept one secret from you? Why is that so wrong? Everyone has the right to their privacy. Expecting Jenna to tell you every little thing about everything she does is not a healthy relationship, no matter how close you are. Refusing to let people have their own lives will only push those people further away, and then you’ll turn into someone like…” Like who? Your father? You shake your head and look away.

Steve sighs. “I hate you. I hate that you make sense. I hate that everything has to be so complicated, dammit.”

“Welcome to the club, kid.”

The three of you sit in silence for a while, the room filled with nothing but the sound of the crackling flames in the fireplace and Nemesis’ raspy breathing. In the heat of the moment, you nearly forgot that Steve is just a kid. Well, he's legally an adult, you suppose, but only by a few months. He still has the immature outlook of some high school senior inexperienced with the workings of the world.

"I'm sorry you and Jenna got dragged into this," you say quietly.

"Believe me, so am I." Steve turns to look bitterly toward the front door. “I don’t have anything else to say. You told me everything and I told you everything. We’ve made our peace.”

“Oh, we have? Does that mean you're gonna leave us alone now?”

“That's what I promised, isn't it?” Steve says.

“And are you gonna leave Jenna alone?”

Steve grumbles to himself. “I’ll work on it.”

You nod. “Then I guess we’ve made our peace.” You climb out of Nemesis’ lap and approach Steve, holding out a hand. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

Steve stares at your hand for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. Finally, he takes it and allows you to pull him to his feet. You place a hand on his shoulder and guide him through the living room toward the front door. He looks over his shoulder at Nemesis one more time as you open the door for him. He then turns to you.

“You aren’t afraid of him at all?”

You smile. “No, Steve. I’m not.”

“And you actually like him for more than just-“

“Yes,” you quickly cut him off. “I love him for _everything_ about him, thank you very much.”

Steve shakes his head. “You’re really weird.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve takes the hint and steps out the front door. You watch as he picks up his clothes that he discarded on the front porch and puts them back on. He pulls some keys out of his pocket, then turns and gives you a curt nod of understanding before stepping out onto the driveway toward his car. You watch intently as he pulls away and his headlights disappear down the road, only closing the door and returning to your place on the sofa when you are certain he is gone.

Steve was right. You hate that everything has to be so complicated.


	12. Reflections

_Thursday, December 31, 1998_

“Nemesis, I’m home!”

You close the front door behind you and take off your coat and shoes, flipping absentmindedly through the mail in your hands. Today was a long day, and you don’t normally get home this late. In fact, the sun has already set. It’s all because Jenna wanted to go to the theater to see The Faculty with you after work. You suppose it was a decent movie, although alien invasions are a bit overdone at this point in your honest opinion.

This was the second time you had seen Jenna since your conversation with Steve several days ago, the first being her usual Tuesday visit for ASL lessons. She seemed completely normal both times, so you assume Steve didn’t mention his visit to her. You decided not to mention it, either. It feels like you and Steve made a nonverbal agreement to keep it to yourselves. You suppose it’s kind of hypocritical of Steve to be mad at Jenna for keeping a secret only for him to proceed to keep a secret from her, but who are you to judge?

Thankfully seeing a movie with Jenna was not nearly as awkward as you had expected, even despite your newfound knowledge of her interests. It occurs to you that she’s never overstepped her boundaries or blatantly flirted with you, and part of you wants to suspect Steve of making all this up to incite drama between you and his sister and push you two apart. Yet you can’t help but notice how she looks at you sometimes. She almost looks sad. It reminds you of the look she gave you when she first met Nemesis and he caressed your cheek. You wouldn’t say she looks jealous. Just sad. Disappointed. Nonetheless, you were relieved when the movie was over and she left to go spend New Year’s Eve with her family. You are determined not to let this development ruin your friendship, but you can’t help but feel weird around her.

You pause when you flip to a small envelop at the bottom of the stack of mail. Everything else so far has been the usual junk mail and ads. This is an attractive red envelope with your name and address handwritten neatly in the center. You look up at the return address and freeze when you see who it is from. You toss the junk mail to the side and sit down on the sofa with the envelope held tightly in your hands. With a shaking finger, you tear through the top of the envelope and pull out the contents.

It’s a holiday card. The front of the card displays a generic hand-painted winter landscape with the words “Holiday Wishes” etched in golden cursive. You open the card to find the prewritten message of “May the season bless you with all things merry and bright”. A long handwritten message covers the empty space of the card, and you begin to read.

> _Dear (y/n),_
> 
> _I’ve taken a lot of time for myself this December, and I’ve spent a lot of that time dwelling on the past. I now find myself disillusioned by my actions, or rather, the lack thereof. For your entire life I have supported you only when it is convenient, and for that I offer my sincerest apologies. I should have stood up for you and taught you to stand up for yourself, but I was too afraid. I’m so proud of you for figuring out how to stand up for yourself on your own._
> 
> _It broke my heart to hear your voicemail when we got home that day. It broke my heart to hear you say you loved us and missed us. Your father refused to let me keep it, and now it is just a memory, a broken piece of time that was discovered a little too late to change anything._
> 
> _With the past behind me, I now find myself dwelling on the future. As hard as I try, I can’t seem to overcome my own confusion and apprehension. I will not lie to you. I do not understand how you can be physically attracted to someone so aesthetically horrifying. Yet I cannot deny the connection you share. Every time I feel fearful for you, I remember your story. I remember how furiously you defended him, how passionately he shielded you. I remember your reassurances. I remember that last nonverbal exchange I shared with him before I closed the door behind me. He acknowledged my request to keep you safe, and I am inclined to believe his sincerity._
> 
> _Your father does not know I am sending this to you, so please do not reply. He has not shown any interest in acting against the two of you solely because he has not acknowledged your existence at all, and I fear that even the mere mention of you will lead him to do something rash. I do not expect you to forgive him, nor do I expect you to forgive me. All I want is for you to know that no matter where your life may take you, I will always wish you happiness and safety, even in the strangest of endeavors._
> 
> _I send you – and Nemesis - my best wishes for a future full of love and blessings._
> 
> _Love you always,_
> 
> _Mom_

You stare down at the card with a look of disbelief. Seeing your parents’ address on the envelope had led you to expect something vulgar or threatening or even simply sarcastic. You certainly didn’t expect an apology and a blessing. The fact that your mother sent this behind your father’s back is shocking all on its own. The fact that he hasn’t mentioned you since the incident surprises you as well. You had expected him to be a problem, but it seems he has simply forgotten about you. Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the message is the final line wishing you – no, _both_ of you – a happy future. Sure, your mother was very consoling after your father’s outburst, but for her to literally approve of your relationship in writing? This can’t be real. Certainly, you’re dreaming.

Even if this is just an illusion, you’re going to enjoy it while it lasts. It’s been an eternity since you dreamed anything other than a nightmare. You rise from the sofa and stand the card on the mantle above the unlit fireplace, then step back to admire it. The small token of familial acceptance adds a splash of cool color to an otherwise warmly lit room, and you smile. When you were younger, a good dream consisted of being able to fly or winning a million dollars. Getting a card from your mother being a good dream nowadays is kind of sad, but you’ll take what you can get.

It occurs to you that you still haven’t seen Nemesis since you got home. He usually stops whatever he is doing as soon as you announce your return. “Nemesis, are you home?” What a stupid question. Of course he’s home. Where else would he go?

You step into the kitchen and are met with a strange sight. Nemesis is sitting on the kitchen floor, back against the cabinets under the sink. He slowly looks over at you with an oddly glazed expression.

“Why are you on the floor?” Nemesis raises his hands and signs at you, and you have no idea what he’s saying. “Uh, can you repeat that?” He signs again, more slowly this time, and you barely manage to make out what he’s saying.

_-Floor is comfortable. Standing feels weird.-_

“What do you mean? Why are you signing so… badly?”

_-Hands feel weird too.-_

You shake your head and walk over to him. “Here, get up and I’ll-“ You pause when you notice something sitting on the floor beside Nemesis. You bend over and grab it with one hand, facepalming with the other. “Holy shit.”

It’s the bottle of vodka you set on the counter this morning so that you wouldn’t forget about it for New Year’s Eve celebrations. It’s empty.

“Did you drink a whole fucking bottle of vodka!?”

_-Tasted bad. Smelled bad too.-_

“Then why did you drink it?”

_-It was in the kitchen.-_

You groan and set the empty bottle on the counter. You’d been looking forward to that vodka all week. “Try to get up. We’ll go sit somewhere more comfortable.”

You watch as he struggles to get to his feet using the counter for support. As soon as he lets go of the counter, he sways precariously to one side and catches himself on the wall with a groan. He tries to stand up straight again only to fall back against the sink.

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh my god. You’re so drunk.” You take ahold of his arm. “Just sit back down, okay? We can move later.” He obliges and fumbles back into a seated position, and you join him on the floor.

_-What is wrong?-_

“I told you, you’re drunk.”

_-Explain.-_

You sigh. “Vodka is an alcoholic beverage. A very highly concentrated alcoholic beverage, mind you. Drinking alcohol messes with your brain and makes you feel, well, weird. It makes you slur your words, or signs, apparently. Your body becomes difficult to coordinate.”

_-What is the purpose?-_

You hum in contemplation. “Some people find it relaxing. Other people find it fun. Some people do it because it helps them forget about their problems for a little while. But damn, you aren’t supposed to drink a whole bottle of 40% ABV vodka in one sitting, dude. That’d definitely kill a man. You might as well be the fucking worm at the bottom of a bottle of good tequila.” You chuckle; a parasite is close enough to a worm, right? “You could have at least saved some for me. Being drunk is a lot more fun with company.”

_-Sorry.-_

“It’s alright. I just hope your healing ability spares you from a killer hangover. You’re lucky you can heal like you do, otherwise your liver would be fried. Honestly, I’m surprised you even can get drunk. I’d think your body would just detoxify it immediately.”

You lean against his arm, and the two of you sit on the floor in silence for a little while. Sitting on the kitchen floor consoling a drunk bioweapon is not how you anticipated spending your New Year’s Eve. You had hoped to get a little tipsy yourself and watch some dumb movies. You can’t lie, you were also hoping to have some fun in the bedroom later, start the New Year with a literal bang. But your mate is in no condition to do anything like that right now.

You suddenly remember the conversation you had with Jill. You had tried to bring it up on Sunday only to be interrupted by Steve, and it completely slipped your mind after that. There were a few more times throughout the week that you almost brought it up, but something always stopped you. What would happen if you brought it up now? He’d probably be more likely to engage in the discussion in his inebriated state. But would that be taking advantage of him? You would much prefer to discuss this sober, but then he’d be more likely to shut down the conversation.

“Hey, uh, can we talk about something?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Great, this is happening now.

_-About what?-_

You play with the hem of your shirt nervously. “I want to talk about that time you broke the mirror in the bathroom.”

Nemesis doesn’t respond immediately. He eventually raises his hands to say something, then puts them back down. You look up at his face and he averts his gaze.

“You can talk to me,” you say softly. “It’s obvious that something is upsetting you. And it’s obvious that you don’t want to talk about it. And if you really, really don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. I respect your privacy. But I just want you to know that you can tell me anything. I want to be able to help you, if that’s what you want.”

A moment of hesitation. _-What about the mirror?-_

“Why did you break it?” you ask.

Nemesis lets out what you can only describe as a slurred grumble. _-Don’t like reflections.-_

“Why not?”

Nemesis hesitates even longer this time. You watch his hands patiently. When he finally does sign a response, it is oddly shaky. _-Monster.-_

Your heart nearly stops. “No,” you whisper. “You’re not a monster.”

_-Liar.-_

You tense at his accusation. “What? Why would you think I’m lying?”

_-Mate was afraid and disgusted in the beginning. So were Jill and U.B.C.S. and Steve and Jenna and parents. Especially your father. Even Umbrella.-_

You want to cry. You can’t argue with him. The instinctual human reaction to seeing something like him is to be afraid and disgusted. Even you felt that way once, long ago, and apparently he remembers. “I… That was a long time ago.”

_-Mate is beautiful. Mate is… fragile. Made to kill, made to destroy. Afraid of hurting mate.-_

“You would never hurt me,” you whisper.

_-On purpose.-_

You aren’t sure how to respond to that. You have no doubt in your mind that Nemesis would never hurt you on purpose. But on accident? Could that happen? He’s always so gentle with you. Surely, he would never be careless enough to hurt you unintentionally, right?

_-Mate must be afraid sometimes.-_

You clench your hands. “I love you. I’m never afraid of you,” you choke out.

_-Should be.-_

“Nemesis, I-“

_-Reflection reminds that mate could get hurt. Reflections reminds that what mate sees is a monster.-_

“That isn’t what I see!” you protest.

_-Mate must be unhappy.-_

A single tear breaks through despite your best efforts to hold it back. You slowly move onto his lap facing him and gently take each side of his face in your hands to force him to look at you. He doesn’t protest. God, you haven’t seen him look at you like this since the first time he saw his reflection. You can read so much sorrow in that single eye.

“Nemesis. I am not unhappy.” A few more rogue tears roll down your cheeks as you search for what to say, and you press your forehead against his. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’ve told you before, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I mean that. I don’t see a monster when I look at you, I see my mate. Please don't be afraid of hurting me. I trust you. I _know_ that you'll never hurt me, even accidentally. I love you so much. And when I say that I love you, I don’t just mean part of you. I mean that I love everything about you. I love that you are a good listener. I love that you are so protective. I love that you can always tell when something is bothering me. I love that weird purr you make when you’re happy. I love that you can practically engulf me with your embrace. I love that you can crush a human torso with your bare hands. I love the way you speak, and the way you laugh, and the way you dress, and the way you love. And I love the way you look. I could just stare at you for hours. I was just telling Jill how attractive I think you are. I would kill for you. I would die for you. You could give me the most flawless human male ever, and I would still turn him down in a heartbeat for you. _You_ are my mate, Nemesis. I want _you_. Nobody else. Just you.”

Nemesis responds with an odd keening sound. You kiss his cheek below his eye, your favorite spot, and find it wet with tears. God, you made him drunk cry. Your lips linger longer than they normally would before you pull away, then you immediately rest your forehead against his again. You’re crying now too, and your voice comes out shakily. “And that is just what I can put into words. Words will never truly describe how much I love you. I just wish everyone else could see you the way I do. I wish you could see yourself the way I do. I think you’re perfect.”

You wrap your arms around his neck. He buries his face in your neck and breathes deep, calming breaths while wrapping his own arms around your back and pulling you close. You’d never pictured him drunk before, but if you had, you would have pictured him as an angry drunk. You would never have expected him to be a sad drunk, but here he is crying into your shoulder. Part of you still wonders if this is all a weird dream, but another part of you knows it isn’t. Your mother really does support you. Nemesis really does have emotional concerns and a bloodstream full of alcohol.

After the longest hug ever, Nemesis removes his face from your neck and allows you to settle on his lap and lean against his chest. You look up to find that he is finally making voluntary eye contact again. He still looks sad, probably because of the crying, but he also looks enamored by you, almost proud. It’s like he’s saying, “This is _my_ mate and she _loves_ me and I want _everyone_ to know it”.

“I know you said that people’s first impression of you is usually negative, but haven’t you noticed that everyone who gets to know you can’t help but grow to like you? It happened with me, obviously. It happened with Jenna. Even Jill came around, and that was after you tried to kill her a few times.” You chuckle lightly. “You know, I think even my mom likes you now. I got a card in the mail today that was from her. She said that she trusts you to protect me and she wished us both a future of love and blessings, or something like that. I’m just paraphrasing.”

After a moment of silence, Nemesis raises his hands to sign. _-Your mother is satisfied?-_

You ponder his strange use of the word satisfied. “I guess so? She’s content with us being together, if that’s what you mean.”

 _-But your father mentioned…-_ He holds his hands still in the air, then slowly lowers them.

“What?” you inquire.

_-Nothing.-_

You squint. “That didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Nemesis grumbles hesitantly. _-Does your mother want children?-_

You tilt your head. “Of course she doesn’t want more children. What do you think she wants to do, replace me? I literally just said that she gave us her blessing. Besides, she’s too old to have more kids anyway.”

Nemesis grumbles again more quietly. _-No. Great children.-_

“I _am_ great!” you scoff.

Nemesis practically groans. He fumbles with his hands as if trying to remember a sign that he’s forgotten. Being drunk probably isn’t helping him. Finally, he seems to remember. _-Grandchildren.-_

Your stomach tightens into a knot. “Oh.” You got him to talk about something he considers a touchy subject, so you suppose it’s only fair that you also talk about one of yours. Still, you didn’t expect him to be so receptive to the brief mentions of kids by your parents. “I, uh… I don’t… she didn’t, um…” You try to steady your erratic breaths. “She’s never mentioned it, no.”

_-Good. Can’t reproduce.-_

You look at him strangely. “Wait, what? You mean you can’t… how would you know that?”

_-Mate many times with mate but never reproduce. Clearly not possible.-_

You shift uncomfortably. Should you tell him? You suppose you should. “Nemesis, the reason you can’t get me pregnant is because I’m on birth control.”

_-Explain.-_

“I take a medicine that keeps me from getting pregnant. Remember when I made you wear the condoms because your cum would make me sick without my medication? I really meant it would make me pregnant without my birth control.” You wring your hands together. “Why? Were you trying to get me pregnant this whole time?”

_-No. Personal drive to mate, not reproduce.-_

You relax a little. “Oh, good. Having a child is an important decision. You can’t just try to get someone pregnant without talking to them about it first.”

Nemesis hesitates before signing again. _-Does mate want children?-_

“I, uh…” You may have carefully analyzed all the objective consequences of having a child with him, but you never actually decided what you want subjectively. You suppose your best bet is to be honest. “I don’t know what I want,” you state plainly. “Why? Do… do you want children?”

_-Only if mate wants children.-_

Okay, that’s a lot to take in for such an indefinite answer. He doesn’t have a personal push to have children, but he’s open to it if you want it. Huh. “I mean, it’s really early to be talking about this, right? We’ve been together for what, three months? Couples usually start thinking about kids after a few years at least.”

_-Worried about your mother’s expectations.-_

You would laugh if this conversation wasn’t making you so uncomfortable. Why _is_ this uncomfortable? He’s fucked you senseless, surely you should be able to talk to him about anything. “Don’t worry about what my mom wants. What matters is what we want. It may be too early to know what we want right now, but… maybe we can… talk about this again. In a few years, maybe?”

_-Okay.-_

You relax slightly, not noticing how tense you’ve grown. You suddenly realize that you still don’t know where Nemesis himself came from. Sure, you know he was made by Umbrella, but how? You recall Dr. Richards mentioning that Tyrants are grown. Was he grown in a test tube, then? Genetic material has to come from somewhere, so who would be considered his parents? At what point in development was he infected with the T-virus? At what point in development was he implanted with the NE-alpha parasite? Did he grow into a full adult in the test tube? If so, how rapidly did he grow? And if not, does that mean he was a child once?

“How did Umbrella make you?” You don’t know if he is comfortable answering you, or if he even remembers, but you suppose it’s worth a shot.

_-Body and mind were in big tanks. Mind was put into body.-_

Body and mind? Does he mean host and parasite? “Was your body ever a child?”

 _-Immature inside tank, yes. Outside tank and aware, no.-_ Well that answers that question. He didn’t have a childhood, just as you suspected. How would he even process raising a child without personal experience of ever being one?

“What was your first memory?”

_-Strapped to a table. Felt powerful. Doctors everywhere. Everyone was afraid except one man. Other doctors called him Faust. Was excited instead.-_

You watch him fingerspell the doctor’s name. Faust, huh? You wonder what his specific involvement with the Nemesis Project was. Umbrella or not, you have to have some respect for him just for not being afraid. “What do you remember after that?”

_-Injured to test healing. Trained to use weapons.-_

You scowl. How dare they hurt him on purpose? “What about Raccoon City?”

_-Showed images of S.T.A.R.S. and told to kill them. Told where to find weapons if needed. Put in a big metal box. Dropped near Jill’s home.-_

“Why did you obey them? And after they hurt you, nonetheless.”

_-Not made to think. Not made to feel. Made to follow orders.-_

His explanation makes you feel incredibly sad. “But you clearly _can_ think and feel. You have ideas and emotions that are so human and complex.”

_-Not before.-_

You frown. “What do you mean?”

_-First independent thoughts outside of orders happened while claiming mate. Desired to protect mate.-_

You just now realize that this means you were the first person he ever fucked. You aren’t sure why you didn’t think of this sooner. You also aren’t sure if you’re more shocked that he technically lost his virginity to you or that he fucked you so good for it being his first time. “Um… how did it feel to, uh, feel?”

_-Good. Warm. Different from anything before, different from pain. First time feeling pleasure. Didn’t like mate screaming, didn’t want to hurt mate, but didn’t want to stop either. Felt better when mate started to make good sounds. Like mate’s sounds very much.-_

Seeing him talk like this is making you feel extremely hot. If he wasn’t drunk out of his mind, you’d fuck him right here on the kitchen floor, give him more of those sounds he apparently loves. “So, that’s how it all started, huh? When did you make the full decision to stop listening to orders and just do what you want?”

_-Mate didn’t want to kill Jill. Mate said to make independent choices. Was angry and confused at first. Then realized that mate causes pleasure, Umbrella causes pain. Then Umbrella took mate away. Then Umbrella hurt mate. Choice was easy after that.-_

You feel yourself welling up with pride at the fact that you had such a prominent impact on him. Still, you wish you could do even more for him. You wish you could explore the world with him. You love him so much, and you’re so proud that he wants to be your mate, and you just want to show him off and make sure everyone in the world knows that he’s yours and you’re his. Instead you’re stuck in this house, deathly afraid of anyone finding out about him. You’re too nervous to even take him into the immediate vicinity lest the mailman shows up or some stupid highschoolers dare someone to sneak around the outside of the house where the creepy zombie apocalypse lady lives.

You remember the look of awe on Nemesis’ face when he made the short walk from the helicopter to the cabin. You want to see that look of awe again. You want to walk through the woods with him and point out all the plants and wildlife that you don’t know the names of. You want to lay down in the grass with him and stare at the stars that you also don’t know the names of. You doubt he would be interested in those things, but surely he would just enjoy spending time with you in a more diverse environment. Other than his short time in Raccoon City, confinement is all he has ever known, and it’s all he ever will know.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’m sorry how unfair everything is. There are so many things out there that I want to show you, so many things that I want you to experience. Everyone out there doesn’t know how good they’ve got it. I didn’t know, either, before I met you. Everyone can just come and go as they please. I’m sorry that I can’t give that to you. I want to give you everything, but I don’t have everything to give.”

_-Mate already gave me everything.-_

Oh god, don’t start crying again, don’t start crying again. You reach up and caress the side of his face, earning you a quiet purr. “That’s definitely not true, but dammit if hearing you say that doesn’t make me the happiest person on Earth.” You bring your hand to rest against his chest with a content sigh. “I’ve never been so certain and so uncertain at the same time. I have no clue where my life is headed anymore. But I do know that I’m gonna spend all of it right by your side.”

Nemesis growls possessively and wraps his arms around you clumsily, reminding you that he’s still drunk. You’ve gotten used to his clumsy drunk signing, and his ideas are surprisingly coherent for someone who can’t even stand up. He had better remember this conversation when he sobers up, dammit. This is honestly the first time the two of you have sat down and sustained a long, serious, deep conversation about anything. You’re learning about each other, and it feels nice.

Nemesis moves his arms and you start to protest before you realize he is signing again. _-Mate should buy a new mirror.-_

You gawk at him. “Wait, really? Are you sure?”

_-Yes. Mate is happy. Mate is not afraid. Mate does not see a monster. Want to see what mate sees.-_

You smile and wrap your arms around him. “I want you to see what I see, too. You’re so god damn sexy and I just can’t get enough of you. The day that you look in the mirror and don’t worry about hurting me will be the second-best day of my life.”

_-What is the best day?-_

“Definitely the day I came home from the hospital, and I ran to you crying because I was so happy to see you again, and we made love for the first time. I mean, I know we’d fucked before, but this time there was no pain or rush or secrecy, there weren’t even any clothes in the way, it was just us and how much we loved each other, and that felt so amazing. And then I fell asleep in your arms, and I didn’t have any nightmares anymore, and just… yeah. That was the best day of my life, hands down.” This is followed by a tired yawn.

You quickly glance up when you hear Nemesis inhaling deeply and find that your yawn was contagious. You’ve never actually seen him yawn before; it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen, and you love it. He holds his mouth agape for a second before snapping his jaw shut, clacking his teeth together, and you shake your head and giggle.

“Getting tired?”

_-Never tired.-_

“Alright, sure,” you tease. A glance at the clock informs you that it is 11:58. No wonder you’re getting so sleepy. “Hey, it’s almost midnight. You know what happens at midnight?”

_-New year.-_

You snicker. “Well, yeah. But do you know what you’re supposed to do when the new year hits?”

_-No.-_

“You’re supposed to kiss someone you love.”

Nemesis growls approvingly and pulls you closer, and you try not to giggle at his drunken enthusiasm. Another look at the clock reveals it to be 11:59 now. Both of you stare in anticipation for the numbers to change.

12:00.

You push yourself up and smooch him on the teeth. No tongue this time, either because the mood doesn’t seem right or he’s too drunk to bother. You stay there for a while before pulling away, and he grumbles quietly. “Happy 1999,” you whisper before settling back in his lap and making yourself comfortable. You have a feeling you’re sleeping on the floor with him tonight. He definitely won’t be able to walk all the way across the house, take off his clothes, and get in bed without falling over at least a few dozen times and maybe knocking a hole in the drywall, and you sure as hell aren’t going to bed without him. You’re afraid you’ll get cold without a blanket, so you gently take his hands and place them over your body. They make you feel warm and safe, and he purrs to comfort you further. You close your eyes and sigh deeply.

1998 was hell, give or take. You’re determined to not let anything horrible happen in 1999. 1999 will be your year. 1999 will be Nemesis’ year. 1999 will be your year to share together. And you’re content to start it with a well-deserved night of sleep.


	13. Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different.
> 
> I know honing in on the thoughts of any character other than the reader isn't traditional for second-person, but... I want to explore Nemesis' internal thought process sooooo much. So here, have some contemplative smut interspersed with his personal reflections. I'm not sorry.

_Saturday, February 27, 1999_

Brushing teeth is by no means a favorite activity for Nemesis. The toothpaste tastes unpleasant, the toothbrush is infuriatingly small, and it’s next to impossible to rinse away the minty sting without any lips to hold the water in his mouth. He doesn’t even have anything to gain from the activity; his teeth would just regenerate if they started to decay. The worst part, though, is standing in front of the bathroom sink for several minutes straight, staring into the mirror. It hadn’t been so bad when the mirror was shattered, reflecting little flashes of unidentifiable images that didn’t fit together. After his drunken conversation with you, however, the broken mirror was quickly replaced by a new one.

Your reassurances only helped so much. You told him you are happy and you aren’t afraid of him, and he knows you wouldn’t lie to him about such things. Still, he can’t help but feel uncomfortable staring down his own reflection. Everything is so wrong. He only has one eye, and its glazed blankness only reminds him of the undead. He feels beyond elated whenever you smile at him, but without lips, he can never smile back. He has no hair for you to run your dainty fingers through. His skin is discolored and mutilated, practically decayed in appearance. He fumes whenever he recalls the other Tyrants with two eyes and lips and straight little noses. At least they’re somewhat passable as humans. Slightly less terrifying, slightly less monstrous. All Umbrella did differently to him was put a power limiter on his chest and a parasite on his brain; how did they manage to mess his face up so badly?

He knows what attractive human males are supposed to look like, people like Carlos and Tyrell and even that bastard Nicholai. Surely, you would be happier with someone like them. But the truth is that you wouldn’t be. He’s the one you chose, he’s the one who makes you happy. And every time he looks in the mirror, he must reconvince himself of this reality.

He tries to understand what it is that you see. Perhaps he would understand if you simply overlooked his appearance, but no, you are actively _pleased_ by it. The fact that you want to grace his ragged face with your soft lips and gentle hands makes him feel like he’s violating some unspoken law of the universe. It’s frustrating; he never put any thought into what he looked like before he met you. He didn’t even think about it immediately after he met you. It wasn’t until he looked in that god damned mirror that it really struck him why everyone was so horrified by him. Every time he sees himself, he is reminded of what he is: a killing machine, a bioweapon, a monster, a danger to the very person he tries so hard to protect. How easy would it be for him to accidentally break you with his massive hands? You aren’t afraid, but even after your reassurances, he can’t help but feel like you should be.

Despite all this, he still brushes his teeth every night before bed. You claim that even if it doesn’t contribute to preserving his dental health, it helps keep his breath fresh, and nobody wants to kiss someone with bad breath. It also helps that this least favorite activity is followed by one of his favorites: going to bed. Thanks to his T-virus infection and parasitic secretions, he doesn’t actually need to sleep to survive, only rest from time to time. The first time he ever slept was when you came home from the hospital and, as you so delicately put it, “made love” with him. It was the third time you had ever fallen asleep in his arms. Each time before, he had simply stayed awake and admired your sleeping form. A sleeping human was so vulnerable, so fragile. To think that you trusted him enough to sleep around him was somewhat empowering. This time that you fell asleep, however, was different. There was nobody else around this time, no eminent danger, nothing to protect you from. This sudden sense of security combined with the feeling of your warm body against his and the afterglow of sex had him dozing off before he realized what was happening. You were the first thing he felt and saw and heard upon waking up the next morning; it was such a wonderful feeling, and he knew then and there that humans were onto something with this whole sleeping thing. Things only got better once the giant mattress you ordered finally arrived and he no longer had to curl up just to fit within the bed frame.

Nemesis doesn’t dream. He didn’t even know what a dream was until you started sharing yours with him. They are always about the strangest, most nonsensical things. He didn’t realize that dreams could be bad until you started crying and screaming that one night, and now he is thankful that he doesn’t have to experience such things, even if it means he must miss out on having so-called good dreams.

With the complete lack of dreams, it isn’t the act of sleeping itself that Nemesis enjoys, but everything else about it. You almost always fall asleep first, and he loves listening to your breaths grow slow and steady. You always sleep right up against him, needing to feel his presence to fully relax. Sometimes you wrap your arms around him, sometimes he wraps his arms around you, but either way you always have to be touching him to go to sleep. Your alluring scent is strong when you sleep, and he enjoys nestling his face into your hair or neck and just taking it in. He loves the peaceful expression on your face while you sleep.

He especially loves the nights when you want to mate with him. Sometimes he completely dominates you, reminding you who you belong to. He doesn’t always understand why you desire for him to be so rough with you, but it pleasures you and exhilarates him, so he does it anyway. Other times you want to take things slow, and as much as he enjoys instant gratification, he finds himself enjoying these tamer bouts in the bedroom as well. He supposes that dominating sex pleasures the body whereas gentle sex pleasures the soul. He never thought himself capable of a thought like that before you started talking to him. Everyone who had ever spoken to him before then was cold, calculating, objective. They were scientists that were just doing their jobs. They never spoke superfluously. They never spoke softly. They never spoke with any emotion other than occasional fear. Your voice was something unfamiliar, something impossible, something unexpectedly pleasant. Your words were an experience.

Mornings are nice too, with the way the early morning sunlight trickles in through the curtains and illuminates your sleeping face. Every time you wake up you tell him good morning in that quiet, gentle voice. You caress his face and kiss him softly and tell him about your dreams, and he soaks in every second of it as if every morning is his last morning on Earth. He wishes he could just hold you under the covers forever, but instead you have to unwrap yourselves from each other and leave behind the warmth your bodies have accumulated throughout the night, just so that you can go to work and leave him alone all day. It isn’t as bad as it once was now that he can read books and watch television, but every second without you feels like a waste of precious time. Even worse is that he can’t protect you while you’re at work. What if something were to happen? What if Umbrella were to find you and take you away to do horrible things to you and he never saw you ever again? Surely, if he could dream, this is what would happen in his nightmares.

Nemesis finishes cleaning up at the sink. With one last distasteful glance at the mirror, he shuts off the light and exits the bathroom. You got ready for bed early for some reason. In fact, you’ve been acting strange all day. He supposes you’ve been acting strange for a few weeks, actually. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened for two whole months, and he’s never seen you so on edge. You seem to think that bad things must happen to you consistently, otherwise the universe will just build up the bad things more and more until it can’t hold them back anymore and unleashes something incomprehensibly miserable into your life. But today you acted particularly strange, constantly glancing at him out of the corner of your eye and blushing, quietly fidgeting, playing with your food instead of eating it.

When he pushes open the door to the bedroom, he immediately wonders if the sight before him could have anything to do with your odd behavior today. You are sprawled across the bed on your back with your upper body propped up on your elbows. This, in and of itself, isn’t terribly strange. It is what you are wearing that is unfamiliar. Your usual sleep clothes have been replaced by a matching set of a lacy bra and panties in what he recalls being your favorite color.

“H-hey,” you stammer nervously in a failed attempt at sounding seductive. “You, uh, like what you see?”

Well of course he likes what he sees. In fact, he is so caught off guard that he forgets to respond, simply standing ducked down in the doorway like a confused idiot. The room is completely silent aside from the pattering of heavy rain on the window and a strange rumbling in the distance.

“I, uh, bought this a few months ago,” you continue, and he realizes you are referring to the clothes. “It’s called lingerie. It’s supposed to be sexy. I just never got the courage to wear it because I didn’t know if you’d be into it.”

It is now that Nemesis realizes what you are doing. You’re offering yourself to him like a precious gift. You even wrapped yourself in dainty clothes – lingerie, as you called it - for presentation. Now you are laying here waiting for him to unwrap his gift and take it. He strides to the edge of the bed, a familiar warmth spreading throughout him. Who would he be to turn down such a thoughtful offering?

“So, uh, are you? Into it, I mean?”

Actions speak louder than words, so Nemesis climbs onto the bed and hovers over your body with a pleased growl. Your anxious complexion quickly turns into a relieved smile, and his heart feels like it’s about to explode at the sight.

“Take me then,” you whisper, finally confident enough to achieve the seductive tone you were originally going for. “Do whatever you want. I’m all yours.”

Normally Nemesis would want to get your clothes out of his way as fast as possible, but he enjoys seeing you in these fancy undergarments that you picked out just to please him, so he decides he’ll take his time tonight. He pushes lightly against your chest, encouraging you to lay down flat on your back. He supports himself with one hand by your head while the other hand roams over your body. He lowers his head to kiss you, and you eagerly part your lips to allow his tongue entry into your mouth. You kiss at his teeth while your tongues press passionately against each other, gasping for air when he finally pulls away and lowers his face to your neck.

Nemesis inhales deeply, and he can clearly detect the scent of your arousal. The aroma makes him feel hazy with lust, and he gently bites at your skin with his teeth. You turn your head to give him room with a quiet whimper, a wordless request for him to bite you harder. He does so until he breaks the skin and tastes your coppery blood, and you moan at him marking you for all the world to see. He pulls away from you, and you look down to see the massive erection threatening to tear through his briefs. He simply stares at you for a moment, gaze hovering over the bleeding bitemark he left on your shoulder, then your scarred torso, then the ornate lingerie covering you, then the sweet look of bliss on your face as you stare back at him.

His tongue glides hungrily over his teeth as an idea plants itself in his head. He backs up significantly and brings his hands to your hips. They gently grasp the hem of your panties and begin to slide them down your thighs. Once they’ve slipped over your feet, he sets them on the side of the bed with care, not wanting to ruin them. You wait eagerly for him to remove his own underwear, but instead he does something else entirely. After spreading apart your legs with his hands, he leans down and nips at your inner thigh with his teeth. Your legs twitch at the unexpected sensation, but he holds you firmly in place. He doesn’t break the skin this time, simply moving along both your thighs and covering them with love bites until they’re bright red. Your scent is so much stronger down here, and Nemesis wonders why he didn’t try this sooner.

You gasp in surprise at the sensation of his warm, wet, rough tongue gliding across your skin, soothing the subtle irritation caused by his teeth. Once he is satisfied giving attention to your thighs, his tongue darts higher and grazes over your folds, and you whimper softly. He licks you again, curling the tip of his tongue to gather as much of your wetness as he can. He retracts his tongue into his mouth and swirls your essence across his taste buds, and he purrs with satisfaction. Taking in your scent alone was enough to rile him up, but tasting you sends his sex drive reeling. His tongue dives hungrily back in to lap up every last drop of your delicious taste. Once you’re clean, he begins to stimulate your clit with the tip of his tongue to produce more of that sweet substance he desires. You desperately clutch the bedsheets as you moan, each touch of his tongue and each puff of his hot breath against you sending you into a state of pure euphoria. Nemesis repeats this process several times, stimulating your clit and then licking you clean, until you feel like you’re going to lose your mind.

After licking you clean once again, Nemesis decides that he wants to taste you right at the source. His tongue slips further back and explores between your folds until it locates your entrance. You throw your head back with pleasure as the warm appendage pushes inside you, and Nemesis growls contently when he is rewarded with more of your taste, stronger than before. His tongue massages your walls, coaxing you to give him more, and your body eagerly obliges. You arch your back each time he stimulates your sweet spot, crying out as you near your release.

Your fists tightly grasp the sheets as his tongue presses against your sweet spot one last time. You can distinctly feel his tongue inside you as your walls clench from the orgasm, leaving you crying his name and seeing stars. His efforts reward him generously, your fluids flowing across his tongue. He licks it all up as meticulously as one might lick a plate clean, purring happily as you come crashing down from your high.

When Nemesis sits back up, it is clear by the bulge in his briefs that he is not yet fully satisfied. He gives you a moment to rest as he removes his briefs, reveling in the way you stare hungrily at his cock. Next he lifts your upper back with one hand and uses the other hand to remove your bra, a task he is starting to get the hang of. He leans over you and supports his upper body with his elbows as he positions his pelvis against yours. You reach up to caress his face, and he purrs at your touch. He senses your heart racing with anticipation, your core throbbing with desire, your eyes staring longingly into his.

Nemesis rubs his cock along your folds, coating himself with your arousal. You wrap your arms around his torso to brace yourself, and he repositions himself to enter you. He easily sheaths himself in you, having loosened you up already with his tongue, and you let out a breathy moan at the feeling of fullness. As he begins his slow and steady thrusting, you pull him closer so you can bury your face in his neck. He’s so much taller than you that you can’t lay face to face in this position, so you’ll make do with what you’ve got. You kiss and suck at his skin, leaving little bruises along his collarbone. He groans with pleasure and increases his pace in response. You’ll probably have the bitemark he gave you for a while; if only your marks on him would last too, but he heals so fast that they're lucky if they remain on him for a few minutes.

Nemesis is enthralled by the effect you have on him. You are so small, even for a human. You shouldn’t be able to do anything to him, yet you somehow manage to completely incapacitate him, to make him lose control of all his senses, in everything you do. Your appearance, your touch, your scent, your taste, your sounds, they all leave him unable to think of anything other than how much he wants you. The innate satisfaction of fulfilling an order, the innate thrill of killing his prey, none of it compares to the pleasure of mating with you, the joy of protecting you, the love of simply being around you. You draw sounds out of him that he didn’t even know he was capable of making. You fill him with such immense passion and purpose. If he didn’t despise Umbrella with every fiber of his being, he might actually be thankful that his creators assigned him to Raccoon City so that fate could pair him with this perfect little human. _His_ perfect little human. His mate.

He watches you as you gasp beneath him, and he drives harder into you to give you the pleasure you deserve. As much as he loves the effect you have on him, he might just love the effect he has on you more. You trust him enough to completely submit to him, and that just makes your reactions even more satisfying, because he knows it’s all because of him. He can never get enough of the sounds you make for him. He loves that your voice is so soft and gentle when you speak. Of course, everyone you meet gets the honor of hearing your voice, even those who don’t deserve it. Nemesis alone gets to hear all the other sounds you make, your moans and whimpers and screams and gasps, the sweet nothings you whisper in your most intimate moments together. Those sounds are his and his alone, and that brings him a pleasure unlike any other. Then there’s the way you gaze at him with half lidded eyes, the way you arch your back and throw your head and thrust your hips, the way you have to catch your breath after he’s finished with you. So innocent, so frail, so trusting, so loving.

You cry out his name again and dig your fingernails into his back as you come a second time. He growls gutturally as you tighten around him and arch your back, pressing your chest against his. Oh, how he adores when you say his name. It is such a hateful word, yet you somehow manage to say it with such love. Your name, on the other hand, is much too beautiful to be properly spoken by a voice such as his. Yet you practically melt whenever he says it. He wonders what you would do if he said your name while he came. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to resist his usual roar of pleasure, but the idea of indulging you like that has him determined to try.

You finally relax beneath Nemesis as your climax subsides. You let your arms fall down to the bed with an exhausted sigh and tilt your head back to look at your mate’s face. For someone who is in the middle of fucking his woman, he looks to be very deep in thought.

It doesn’t take Nemesis too much longer to reach his release. His breath hitches right before he spills into you, as if he is trying to hold something back. Then, as you feel his warmth begin to fill you, he throws back his head and clearly groans your name.

Something about giving in to you like that makes his orgasm so much better. He pours into you until he has nothing left to give, his vision blurring with pleasure and his body practically trembling. To his surprise, the conclusion of his climax leaves him feeling physically exhausted. He just wants to collapse, but he knows that would crush you beneath his massive body, so he instead rolls onto his side with a satisfied groan. He feels the mattress shift slightly as you scoot toward him, snuggling against his chest and holding a hand against his cheek. When he looks at your face, he finds you crying, and a jolt of dread overwhelms his body.

_Did he hurt you?_

He gives you a concerned growl, and you simply laugh quietly. “I’m fine,” you whisper. “It’s just… you’ve never said my name like that before, and I wasn’t expecting it.” You gently kiss his face. “I really liked it. You should do it more often.”

Nemesis relaxes again and wraps an arm around you, nuzzling his face into your hair with a content purr. He’s glad to hear that you liked what he did, even if he thinks saying your name with his voice feels like defiling something sacred. “Love,” he says, voice muffled by your hair.

You sigh happily and close your eyes. “I love you t-“

_BANG!_

Nemesis sits up immediately when something he can only describe as an explosion rattles the entire house. He moves to hover protectively over you with a low growl, gaze darting around the room for any sign of danger. You laugh and try to push him away, and he stares at you with confusion. Why are you laughing?

“Are you telling me you’ve never heard thunder before?” you ask.

Nemesis doesn’t know what this 'thunder' is, but he’s never heard anything like it. Sure, he’s heard plenty of explosions, but they always had a source, usually a weapon. This sounded like it was coming from everywhere at once.

“It’s just something that happens sometimes,” you explain. “I don’t know exactly how it works, but sometimes energy builds up in the clouds and turns into lightning, which makes a really loud noise called thunder. Sometimes it rains too, like right now; that’s called a thunderstorm.”

Nemesis just looks at you with greater confusion. The noise being from the sky explains why it sounded like it was everywhere at once, but what is 'lightning'?

“Why don’t you go look out the window?” you ask. “With thunder that loud, the lightning is probably right on top of us. Maybe you can see it for yourself.”

Curious to understand this unfamiliar weather phenomenon, Nemesis shifts to the floor and approaches the window, pulling the curtains back to look outside at the night sky. How do you expect him to see something outside when it’s this dark? He can’t even see the rain until it hits the window. He certainly won’t-

_BANG!_

A huge flash of electricity branches out across the sky with a loud crack, lighting up the outside world for nothing more than a split second. Nemesis steps backward with a threatening growl as memories flicker through his mind. _There are people here. They want to hurt his mate. They want to take his mate away from him. He must protect you. Then excruciating, debilitating pain. Convulsions. No control. Falling. Darkness. He opens his eye. He can’t move. His mate is gone. He starts to scream. They took you. They took you they took you they took you theytookyou-_

Nemesis throws the curtains shut with such violent force that they nearly rip off the curtain rod. What kind of cruel world does he live in where electricity rains from the fucking sky? Electricity, the one thing that forced him down, stopped him from protecting you, allowed them to take you. Fuck that. He returns to the bed and wraps himself around you like both your lives depend on it.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask.

_BANG!_

Nemesis flinches so hard that you can practically see his soul leave his body, then growls protectively as he holds you tighter. Why is he so defensive? He was certainly confused by the first clap of thunder, but he wasn’t bothered by it, at least not until he saw the lightning. When you look at his face, you see an emotion you’ve only ever seen on him in your nightmares.

“Are… are you afraid?”

Nemesis grumbles at you. Him? Afraid? He’s never been afraid of anything in his life. He’s a nearly indestructible powerhouse, what could possibly hurt him?

_BANG!_

He flinches again and grips you harder with another grumble. Not even electricity can hurt him, at least not permanently. But it can incapacitate him long enough for someone he cares about to get hurt, and that’s even worse. He forces himself to pull away from you so that he can sign.

_-Electricity let Umbrella take mate away. Couldn’t protect mate.-_

Your face softens with realization. He’s not afraid of the lightning. It just reminds him that even a seemingly unstoppable force can have its power stripped away in an instant. It reminds him that there was once a time when he failed to keep you safe. It reminds him that there are still people out there looking for him, looking for you, and they can and will hurt you both by any means necessary. It reminds him of losing you.

You return his embrace and kiss him reassuringly. “It’s okay now, though,” you assure him. “It’s all over. We got away, and Umbrella will never find us here. They won’t take me away again.” You rest your head under his chin. “I’m right here. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

_BANG!_

Nemesis holds you tightly against him. He wants to believe you, but you can’t know the future. Dr. Richards wasn’t the only person who worked on the Nemesis Project. What about the man they called Faust? What about all the other doctors? These are smart, determined people who put massive amounts of time and resources and funding into creating him, the ultimate bioweapon, the only one of his kind. If they wanted him back, surely, they would find a way. And he doesn’t doubt they want him back.

“The storm will be over by morning,” you say, interrupting his thought process. “Please try to sleep, okay?” Nemesis grumbles, and you sigh as you reach down and pull the covers over yourselves. You nestle yourself back into Nemesis’ embrace and close your eyes, focusing on the sound of the raindrops hitting the house. “I love you,” you whisper.

“Love.”

Nemesis listens closely to your breathing as it settles down into the obvious rhythm of sleep. When he first took you as his mate, he was simply following instinct. Now he can truly say that he loves you. It is such a strange concept, to care so deeply about someone that you would do anything for them. You told him you would kill for him, die for him. He’s already killed for you, and he would gladly die for you too. He would break if he lost you again. You are everything. He will keep you safe at all costs, and nothing will ever change that. But most importantly, he will never hurt you.

At least, not on purpose.


	14. Understanding

_Monday, March 8, 1999_

You lean against Nemesis on the sofa, his arm wrapped around you, inattentively watching an old black and white movie you found while channel surfing. You normally spend your evenings with him practicing reading, writing, and signing, but he’s started to get so good that you only practice a few times a week anymore. It’s amazing how much he was able to pick up in just five months. Jenna still comes over on Tuesdays, but it’s more just to hang out than to teach at this point. Exposure therapy seems to be working, as the awkwardness that you felt around Jenna when you found out she liked you quickly faded after spending more time together. She also gives you that sad look less often. Maybe she’s finally getting over it.

Jenna claims that her relationship with Steve has vastly improved after the dip it took late last year. She says he’s dropped the subject of her friendship with you altogether, instead focusing on just spending time with her and being a decent brother. You’re glad that Steve seems to finally be attempting to find peace with the situation.

In summary, things have been going great. You’ve never been at a better place in your life. And that’s why you are filled with crippling dread.

You’ve started to believe that the universe has a way of keeping itself balanced. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, or something like that. For every good thing in the world, there is also something not so good. Your life has been an excellent exemplification of this theory. Bad thing: you got stuck in a zombie outbreak. Good thing: you met Nemesis. Bad thing: you got kidnapped by Umbrella. Good thing: you got a front row seat to Nemesis beating the shit out of everyone involved. And so on and so forth.

Unfortunately, this outlook on life can lead to periods of serious paranoia. When things have been too good for too long, you convince yourself that everything is about to come crashing down, preventing you from fully enjoying the good times while they last. Now you find yourself a week into March, and you just know that shit is going to hit the fan soon. You can feel it in your bones.

_Knock knock knock._

You tense when a knock resounds at your front door. Unexpected visits never end well, and you don’t expect this one to be any different. You stand from the sofa and sign for Nemesis to wait there before walking quietly toward the door. You aren’t going to make the same mistake you made with Steve and just assume it’s Jenna, so you look through the peephole to see who it is. A look of utter confusion spreads across your face. Are you seeing things? You slowly unlock and open the door, and sure enough, you are greeted by the timid face of none other than your mother.

“Mom?” you say. You quickly poke your head out the door and look around outside. There’s nobody else in sight. “Where’s Dad?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just me this time,” your mother assures you. “I hope I’m not, uh, interrupting anything.”

“N-no, not at all,” you stammer with a subtle blush. It’s five pm on a Monday; what does she think she’d be interrupting?

“May I come in?”

You shuffle uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed. As much as you don’t trust unannounced visitors being in your house, you want to trust your mother, especially after the heartfelt card she sent you. Plus, Steve's unannounced visit didn't end so badly. With a sigh, you step aside. “I guess so?”

Your mother gives you a grateful smile as she steps into the house, and you quickly close and lock the door behind her. You watch as she kicks off her shoes and turns to examine the living room. Her eyes fall on Nemesis, who has turned to look over the back of the sofa at the mysterious visitor. You watch her closely; there is an evident nervousness in her composure upon seeing him.

“Forgive me for being blunt, but… why are you here?” you ask.

“I really miss hearing from you, (y/n). I think about you all the time. I wanted to see you again.”

“Well you could have called and let me know you were coming.”

Your mother looks down at the floor. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”

You frown. “Why would I do that?”

“Because of how badly I messed up. I failed to support you growing up, and I failed to stand up to your father when it mattered most. I didn’t expect you to forgive me for how badly I failed you as a mother,” she says quietly.

You sigh. “Mom, you didn’t fail me. Sure, you made some mistakes, but so does every mother. I bet Grandma made her fair share of mistakes raising you. And I’m sure I’ll make my fair share of mistakes if I ever become a mother.” You briefly pause at the fact that you just said that so nonchalantly. “I can sit here and tell you I forgive you, which I do, but it won’t mean anything until you forgive yourself.”

You tense when your mother lurches forward and hugs you, choking back a sob. “When did you become so emotionally intelligent?” she whispers.

You hug her back as she practically cries over your shoulder. “Well, I suppose making a relationship with a bioweapon work was a good place to start.”

A faint laugh punctuates your mother’s sniffles. When she finally pulls away from the hug, her eyes are red and puffy from trying not to cry. “Speaking of that… I didn’t come here just to see you.” She glances at Nemesis, who is still watching this interaction from the sofa. “I've been thinking long and hard over the last three months, and I think I'm finally comfortable with the situation, or at least, I'm getting there. I was kind of hoping to get to know Nemesis a little better. I mean, you’ve been with him for almost half a year now, and all I know about him is that he uses sign language.”

“Well then, make yourself comfortable, I suppose,” you say as you step past her to return to your spot on the sofa. She simply stands there until you sit down and lean back against Nemesis. Only then does she slowly make her way toward the armchair to sit. “Uh, can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, I’m fine for now,” your mother replies. She turns to look at Nemesis, who wraps his arm back around you and pulls you closer with a purr.

You roll your eyes at his possessive display. “God, stop being such a show-off. It’s just my mom.” He lets out a low rumble of a laugh. You turn back to your mother. “How did you convince Dad to let you come out here? I thought you said in the card you sent that he’d probably flip his shit if you so much as mentioned me.”

“Well, uh, he doesn’t exactly know I’m here.”

You raise an eyebrow. “He didn’t force you to tell him where you were going?”

Your mother shakes her head. “No, it’s not that. I just, uh, lied about it.”

“What?”

“I told him I’m visiting my sister because she’s sick.”

“Aunt Carol?”

“Yeah. She’s not really sick, of course. But he doesn’t need to know that.”

A smile twitches at the corner of your lips. “You lied to Dad’s face just so you could see me. Damn. I didn’t think you had it in you to do something like that.”

Your mother offers a nervous smile in return. “I didn’t either. I told him I’d be back home tomorrow, so I do want to stay true to that at least. I don’t expect you to let me stay the night here, though. I can stay in the motel or something.”

You frown. “I’d be kind of an asshole if I made my own mom stay in a dirty motel. The guest bedroom’s all yours if you want it.”

“Oh, well, I really appreciate that. I promise I won’t get in the way, and I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t feel rushed, I don’t bite. Neither does he,” you joke while nodding in Nemesis’ direction.

Your mother shuffles in her seat. “So, uh, speaking of that, should I just… talk to him?”

“Have at it.”

She takes a deep breath and leans forward in the chair. You wait for her to say something, but to your surprise, she only lifts her hands. _-Hello Nemesis. Can you understand me?-_

You gawk at her. Did she just…?

_-Yes, understand.-_

Your mother’s eyes light up at the response. “Oh! Oh my god, that worked!”

Your eyes dart back and forth between your mother’s hands and Nemesis’ hands. “You… You learned sign language?”

She smiles at you. “I mean, I’m still learning, but I’ve got the basics down. Why do you sound so surprised? You didn’t think I was going to go the rest of my life needing a translator just to speak to my future son-in-law, did you?”

Your breath hitches. “S-son-in-law?”

“Well, yeah. You’re mates, right? That sounds pretty committed.”

You can’t quite figure out what facial expression you want to make. Your mother is treating this like a _normal fucking relationship_. He’d be her son-in-law. She’d be his mother-in-law. Wild. “I mean, I can’t exactly marry someone who doesn’t legally exist, so… sure, yeah, he’s your son-in-law.” Your mother practically beams at you before turning back to Nemesis and raising her hands again, but you interrupt her. “ _You_ don’t have to sign, you know. He’s not deaf.”

She shrugs. “I know. But I rehearsed all these questions and I want to practice.”

“Ah. Fair enough.”

She resumes signing. _-Are you treating her well?-_

Nemesis snorts at the stupidity of the question. Of course he’s treating you well. _-Yes. Still protect mate. Make mate happy. Spend a lot of time together.-_

_-What do you do together?-_

_-Talk, cook, eat, read, watch television, sleep, shower, make love-_

You grab his hands and thrust them into his lap with a blush. “Nemesis! That’s private!”

“He’s not telling me anything I don’t know.” You open your mouth to argue, but your mother quickly starts signing again.

_-Is my daughter treating you well too?-_

_-Yes. Understanding, affectionate. Cooks good food. Says kind things. Gives gifts.-_

_-What gifts?-_

_-Clothes, bigger bed, television.-_ He glances at you mischievously. _-…Favorite gift is when mate wears lingerie.-_

You groan and cover your face with your hands, but your mother just laughs. God, she’s taking this like a champ.

_-What is your favorite thing about her?-_

_-Small and squishy.-_

She snort-laughs, and you can’t help it, so do you. There was no hesitation at all in his response. He thinks you’re small and squishy? He’s not wrong, but geez. Your mother then turns to you. “What about you, small and squishy? What’s your favorite thing about him?”

“That’s a hard question,” you reply. “I have a lot of favorite things. His eye and his hands are definitely up there at the top of the list. But if I had to pick one thing, I’d say his voice.” Nemesis looks at you with slight surprise. His monstrous voice is your favorite thing about him? “I mean, his growls and purrs alone are enough to make me swoon, but when he speaks? I could just lose myself in that voice.” You look up at him lovingly. “I’ll never forget the first time he said my name.”

“Wait, I thought he couldn’t speak,” your mother says.

“That’s because he can’t, at least, not very well. He can say a word or two at a time but that’s it.”

_-Difficult to speak.-_

Your mother nods. “Ah, I see. If it’s not too much to ask, could I hear you say something?”

Nemesis leans down until his face is right beside your ear, then proceeds to rumble out your name in the most seductive tone his voice can manage. You would melt into the sofa if you weren’t trying to keep your composure in front of your mother. Having failed to get an obvious physical reaction out of you, he nuzzles his face into your neck with a growl. You can't help but give in, holding a hand up to his face and giving him a soft kiss as your blood runs just a little hotter.

“I love you, but you’re the worst,” you whisper, and he just chuckles deeply.

Your mother observes the interaction with intrigue. “I… I know I’ve come to terms with what you two have going on, but actually seeing physical affection between you is… a little strange, to say the least.”

You smile shyly. “I should have warned you, he really can’t keep his hands to himself when we’ve got company, like he’s got a point to prove or something.” He huffs and strokes your hair, and you roll your eyes at him.

“What does he feel like?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Well, he’s got human skin, but it’s kind of rough.”

_-Can feel if you are curious.-_

Your mother blinks blankly. “Oh, well, I am kind of curious.” Nemesis holds out a hand to her, and she nervously rises from the chair and approaches. She reaches out with both hands and takes hold of his, running her fingers over his skin analytically. “How strange… Why is it like this?”

_-Parasite secretions toughen skin against damage.-_

Your mother turns to you, looking a bit lost. “Uh, I don’t recognize those first two signs.”

You laugh nervously. “Oh, uh, he said ‘parasitic secretions’.”

“P-parasite?” She quickly backs away a few steps.

“Yeah, I guess I never mentioned that. He’s kind of controlled by a brain parasite. He’s one of a kind, a prototype of sorts. Don’t worry about it, you won't catch it or anything.”

“O-oh,” your mother stammers, then shakes her head defeatedly. “Honestly, I’m so desensitized at this point that nothing really surprises me anymore.”

_-Doubt that.-_

A tentacle emerges from Nemesis' outstretched hand, and your mother flinches back with a squeak. You grab the tentacle and pull it away from her. “Nemesis, don’t try to scare her! She’s your fucking mother-in-law!” He just laughs mischievously.

“I-I’m sorry!” your mother says as she backs up into the armchair and unceremoniously plops herself down. “It’s fine, really. I just… What the hell is that?”

You sigh as the tentacle mindlessly coils around your arm. “It’s, uh… actually, I don’t really know. He’s always been able to do that, so I kind of just… went with it.”

_-Because of parasite.-_

“Oh. Huh.” You stare at the tendril. “That’s cool, I guess. You learn something new every day.”

Your mother looks like she’s trying her best not to look at the tentacle that has now made its way up to your shoulder. “Yeah, that’s… okay.”

“You don’t have to keep pretending to be okay with this, you know.”

Your mother waves her hands frantically. “No! No no! I’m not pretending! I really am okay with this. He treats you well, and you’re happy, and that’s all that matters. You just… have to be patient with me. Just when I think I understand everything, something like that happens and I just have to process it for a moment.”

_-Sorry.-_

"It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m fine. Let’s keep talking."

You watch her calmness with awe. She’s forcing herself to accept this irrational reality, even pushing herself to learn more. You’re immensely thankful for her open-mindedness. Between Jill, Jenna, and your mother, it feels like you are finally starting to build up a network of people who love and support you for who you are, and that feels really nice.

_-Do you ever go outside?-_

_-No.-_

_-Why not?-_

_-Could be seen and put mate in danger.-_

_-Do you wish you could go outside?-_

Nemesis contemplates this for a moment. You’ve told him that you’re sorry you can’t give him a normal human life, but he’s never talked about his thoughts on the matter up front. You’re genuinely curious what he will tell your mother. Finally, he raises his hands to sign.

_-See human mates go outside on the television. Want to do those things with mate. Want to give mate a normal relationship with normal things.-_

You smile sadly and caress his cheek. “I don’t need normal to be happy, and you know that.” You don’t tell him that you really wish you could do those things with him too. The idea of taking a nice walk in the woods together or walking hand-in-hand through town where everyone can see fills you with an odd sense of longing.

“I never thought I’d feel privileged just for being able to leave my own house,” your mother says.

“Me neither,” you say. “Just goes to show that you never know where life is going to take you and how it'll change your perspective.”

Your mother nods at this wisdom before turning back to Nemesis to ask more questions. _-Have you really killed people?-_

_-Yes.-_

_-Was it really how my daughter described it?-_

_-Yes.-_

_-Did you… feel bad?-_

_-No.-_

_-Why not?-_

_-People tried to hurt mate. Deserved to die.-_

Your mother’s face is starting to look a bit pale, and you quickly attempt to back him up. “If he hadn’t killed them, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Umbrella would still be torturing and experimenting on me, both of us. You have to try to understand. It was us or them.”

“But did it have to be so… violent? You said he ripped those people apart with his bare hands. You said he made someone drown in their own blood. That’s just-“

“Most of the deaths were quick,” you interrupt. “The slow deaths were reserved for the few people who really deserved it.”

Your mother frowns. “And how do you go about deciding who deserves it?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Nemesis starts signing before you get the chance. His hands are shakier than normal, like he is trying to repress his rage at the people he killed so brutally. _-Mocked mate, tortured mate, tried to rape mate, enjoyed every second of it. Deserved to die slowly. Deserved to suffer.-_

Your mother looks at you with horror. “They… they tried to…”

“I-I don’t like to talk about it.” Your voice trembles noticeably, and Nemesis wraps his arms around you with a keening purr.

Your mother nods. “You don’t have to. God, I guess I just never really thought about how bad it got. I mean, I know you’ve got scars, and you’re on meds now, but I just… I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

You wrap your own arms around Nemesis, trying to collect yourself. “You couldn’t have done anything, anyway. Nemesis was there for me, and I’m alive, and that’s all that matters. I just don’t want you to judge him because he killed people. He’s so much more than that.”

“If you say he’s so much more than that, then I believe you. I’m just happy to see you in a good place after everything that happened. And I’m happy that you’re willing to let me be a part of it.”

“Of course,” you reply. “I'm desperate for any kind of support, so I can't exactly turn people away. I’m happy that you want to be a part of this. I’m starting to think you might be just as out of your mind as I am.”

Your mother fidgets. “Well, I’d like to think I’m not terribly out of my mind. I’m not just blindly accepting of this; there are important questions that I still would like to have answered.”

“Like what?”

Your mother gives you a nervous look before turning to sign at Nemesis again. _-Has my daughter talked to you about children?-_

Oh god, here we go.

_-Yes.-_

“O-oh.” Your mother looks surprised, like she was expecting a negative response. She waits intently for Nemesis to continue, but he doesn’t, so she prompts him. "What did you two say?"

_-Open to the idea but still too early. Will talk again in a few years.-_

You watch your mother squirm in her seat. You can’t tell if she looks uncomfortable or excited, and you decide to speak up before she thinks too hard about it. “That is, assuming we even can reproduce together. We still don’t know that.”

“Would… Would they resemble him?”

“How should I know?” you respond.

_-Appearance is not genetic, result of many other things. T-virus, parasite, surgery.-_

Your mother relaxes slightly. “Well that’s a bit reassuring. Not that there’s anything wrong with your appearance!” she quickly adds unconvincingly. “I just wouldn’t want my grandbabies to be locked in a house their whole lives.”

“Do… do you want grandkids?” you ask tentatively.

Your mother looks to the side. “I… wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

You try not to laugh at her attempted subtlety. “Well, if I ever get knocked up, you’ll be the first to find out. After Nemesis, of course. But that isn’t happening any time soon.”

“Right, of course,” your mother says with a small nod.

"Can I ask you a question now?” you say.

“Sure.”

“Do you still love Dad?”

Your mother goes silent, the look on her face distinctly upset. You watch as she begins to fidget with a loose thread on the arm of the chair, and you wonder if you should have asked that question at all. “I… I don’t know. Things certainly don’t feel the same as they used to, but… I don’t know if that means I stopped loving him or just that I love him in a different way now. He makes me nervous sometimes. I’m not afraid of him hurting me or anything, but I’m afraid of the hurtful things he’ll say if I don’t give in to his control. I’m afraid that he’ll leave. Sometimes I don’t want to be around him, but I don’t want to be alone, either. I just wish things could be the way they used to be.”

You look away, feeling an odd pang in your chest as you remember your conversation with Steve months ago. “That’s a common sentiment from people who get involved with my mess.”

“I-I didn’t mean that this is your fault or anything!” she quickly adds with a slightly panicked tone. “And maybe I’m wrong to want things to go back to the way they were before. It’s not like things were actually any different. Your father was still the same person he is today. He just… did a better job at sweeping the unpleasantries under the rug.”

“Ignorance is bliss,” you say.

“What about you?” your mother asks quietly. “Do you still love him at all?”

“I threatened to have him killed,” you deadpan.

“I figured as much,” your mother replies, her emotion indiscernible.

“In retrospect, I don’t know if I ever loved him,” you continue. “I wanted to impress him, and I was afraid to disappoint him, and I guess I convinced myself that that was the same as love. But now I don’t think it was.”

Your mother nods with a hum of understanding. “At least you can admit that.” You wonder what she means.

You rest your head against Nemesis’ arm and stare at the movie still playing on the television, unsure of how to move on from the heavy topic at hand. It feels cathartic to admit how you really feel about your father, how you’ve always felt about him. You wish reality was different, but it isn’t. You can’t change the past, only guide the future.

Your mother must sense your discomfort, because she makes a sudden effort to change the conversation, and you couldn't be more grateful. “Does he eat a lot of food?”

You throw your head back and groan in exasperation. “Oh my god, yes. My grocery bill is through the roof with this guy in the house. He’s got a metabolism for days.” Nemesis simply grunts unapologetically.

“What are you having for dinner tonight?”

“Uh, I was planning to start on a stir fry right about now. I’ve never made a stir fry in my life, so it’ll probably be a disaster, but you’re welcome to have some with us.”

“Well, don’t let me distract you. I’m going to run to the restroom and then grab my luggage out of the car.” She chuckles. “I’ll try to get the right door this time.”

You faintly smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t have anything to hide this time either.”

Your mother smiles back before rising from the chair and heading down the hall toward the bathroom. Once she’s disappeared, you lightly tug your arm out of Nemesis’ tentacular grasp. Before you can stand up to go to the kitchen, Nemesis raises his hands and catches your attention.

_-Mate okay?-_

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

_-Talked about father. Seemed upset.-_

You smile up at him. “Don't worry, I’m okay. I’m just finally starting to understand that sometimes you have to talk about things that are uncomfortable instead of just bottling them up. Otherwise you can never move on.” You lean over to wrap your arms around him. “You’re the one who helped me figure that out, you know.”

Nemesis purrs comfortingly as he returns your embrace, leaning down to nuzzle against your cheek. You retaliate with several light kisses across his face. You’re appreciative that he is so attuned to your emotions, but you don’t want him to worry about you. There’s enough worry in the world already.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Love,” he growls back.

“Well, at least I know you two aren’t just putting on a show when I’m around.” You peek over the sofa to see that your mother has returned from the bathroom and is standing by the front door on her way to get her luggage from outside, a look of amusement on her face.

“Mom!”

“Sorry, sorry!” she says as she opens the front door, letting in a wave of cold air. “I’ll let you get back to being all lovey-dovey.” She ducks out the door before you have a chance to protest.

You shake your head, blushed cheeks betraying your embarrassment at being caught exchanging sappy declarations of affection. “Let’s go get started on that stir fry,” you say, to which Nemesis grumbles in concurrence. You push yourself off of him and onto your feet, and he stands as well to follow you into the kitchen. You abruptly pause in the doorway and turn to face him, nearly causing him to trip over you. “And one more thing,” you say. “At least try to have some table manners tonight.”

Nemesis laughs lowly. _-No promises.-_

You roll your eyes with a smile and step into the kitchen. He’s such a pain in the ass when you have company. But you wouldn’t trade him for the world.


	15. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think I've discovered a personal fondness for humiliation. Oops. :3c

_Tuesday, March 9, 1999_

“Oh my gosh! That’s fantastic! I’m so happy for you!”

Jenna brings her soda can to her lips and takes a long drink of the carbonated beverage. You purchased a pack of off-brand soda last time you went grocery shopping, but Nemesis didn’t like the fizz and you weren’t a fan of the flavor. Luckily Jenna seems to like it, so you’ll just let her whittle it down during her Tuesday visits.

“I’ve never been so relieved,” you say. “I’d been expecting something horrible to happen for a while. It’s been too quiet for too long, you know? But then Mom showed up, and everything went great, and I just… I wonder if maybe the universe is done playing its stupid little game of cosmic sadism.”

Jenna stifles a carbonation-induced burp through her nose. “I hope so. I hate seeing you all stressed out over nothing.”

“It was kind of sad to see her off this morning,” you continue. “It’s really obvious that she misses me. And I feel bad that she has to go home to Dad. Honestly, part of me wishes she would just leave him and move out here to Oregon, get an apartment in town or something.”

“Why doesn’t she?”

“She said she’s afraid of being alone.”

“But she’d still have you!”

You shrug. “People don’t always make sense. And maybe it’s best that she doesn’t live too close. She took to Nemesis way faster than I expected. She spent ninety percent of her energy walking in on Nemesis and I being affectionate and then giving sappy commentary on how ‘lovey-dovey’ we are. This morning she just waltzed into my bedroom and started gushing about us being all snuggled up together in bed.” You chuckle. “I don’t know if I could handle that on a regular basis.”

“Well would you rather have her glaring at the two of you with disdain instead? Because that’s what _my_ parents would do if I ever came home with a gi- uh, date.”

You try not to noticeably frown at Jenna’s near slip-up. Figures Jenna's parents would be homophobes. “Fair enough. I guess I should count my blessings instead of complaining about them."

“What all did you talk about while she was here?

“Oh, just… stuff,” you say with a shrug. “She mostly talked to Nemesis the whole time, wanted to learn more about him. I don’t think he’s ever had to communicate so much with someone other than me in his life. He’s definitely an introvert; he was exhausted by the end of the night.” Nemesis shuffles on the sofa beside you and huffs defiantly.

“I wonder how she learned sign so fast,” Jenna ponders.

“I mean, she really didn’t. She mostly just memorized how to sign the questions she wanted to ask, and even then, her grammar was still kind of off. There were a lot of times I had to translate because she hadn’t learned the words Nemesis used yet. But she’s definitely putting a lot of effort into it to be as far as she is. Which is impressive, considering that she can’t practice at all around Dad.”

“Is it appropriate for me to say that your dad is an asshole?” Jenna whispers.

“Considering the things that Nemesis says about him, that’s pretty tame,” you snicker.

_-Want to crush father’s head like an egg and paint the walls with his blood.-_

“Believe me, I know.” You turn back to Jenna. “How’s Steve been?”

“Oh, he’s doing fine,” Jenna replies. “He still insists that I be home by seven thirty or else he’ll have to come looking for me. You’d think he’s my dad or something, but even my parents aren’t strict about curfews.”

“Why do you bother to humor him? He’s not even older than you.”

Jenna shrugs. “It keeps him happy. I figure if coming home by a certain time means that he’ll stop worrying about me and the people I hang out with, then it’s worth it. Poor kid has enough anxiety already with the end of his senior year approaching.”

You nod, remembering your own experience with the disaster that people call ‘high school’ many years ago. It isn’t exactly the highlight of anyone’s life, especially for someone who doesn’t care for cliques like yourself. “The kid’s smart. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Before the conversation can continue, the phone rings from across the room. “Who’s that?” Jenna asks.

“Hell if I know,” you mutter as you rise from the sofa and stride across the room to answer the phone. “It’s not like I have a lot of friends who want to talk to me.”

“Who needs a lot of friends when you have me?” Jenna quips.

“Hard to argue with that,” you say with a laugh. You pick up the phone and bring it to your ear. “Hello?”

You hear clattering and rustling as if the person on the other end dropped the phone in surprise. “(Y/n)! Oh, thank god!” It’s the voice of your mother. She sounds exasperated, almost like she just got done running a marathon.

“Mom? What’s going on? Did you make it home okay?”

“Listen, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t think…” It sounds like she’s starting to hyperventilate, and it's immediately obvious that something is awry.

“Mom, calm down!” you say. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

You can hear labored breathing and stammering on the other end of the phone before your mother manages to form coherent sentences. “It’s… It’s your father! He called my sister last night to ask me something, and she told him she had no idea what he was talking about! When I got home he was furious! He thought I was cheating on him or something! He… He threatened to throw me out, and I… I panicked! God, I… I told him the truth! I told him that I visited you, and he went hysterical!”

You swear under your breath. By this point, Jenna has picked up that something is wrong and has stood from her seat with a look of evident concern. “What did he do?” you demand. “Did he hurt you? I swear to god, if he hurt you I’ll-“

“He contacted Umbrella!”

In a single instant, everything comes crashing down around you. It’s as if all the dread you’ve ever felt in your entire life has just flooded back into your body all at once. The pain, the fear, the hopelessness, the recollection of it all is enough to make you start visibly quivering. You open your mouth to say something, but only a breathy squeak comes out. Nemesis joins Jenna in standing at this point, sensing the panic emanating from you.

“He told them where you live, and he told them you have Nemesis, and he kept me from leaving the house so I couldn’t contact you!” your mother continues, her words cascading out of her mouth so fast that you almost can’t understand her. “I was just now able to get away and get to a public phone! It’s already been a few hours! You and Nemesis need to get out of the house right now!”

You finally manage to recall how to formulate sentences in the English language. “Where the hell are we supposed to go?” is all you can think to say.

“I don’t know! Just hang up and go _somewhere_! Please!”

“Okay! Okay, I… We’re going to be fine, alright? We’re leaving right now! I… I love you, okay?”

Your mother doesn’t reply directly, only muttering things that sound like “oh god” and “I’m so sorry” amidst panicked breathing as you hang up the phone.

“Was that your mom?” Jenna asks, her stance tense. “What’d she want?”

Thoughts of everything Jill has told you about her endeavors over the last several months start to come back to you, from contacting her old coworker to working on a private anti-bioterrorism force, and you rapidly construct the framework of a plan. You immediately dial another number into the phone. “Jenna, listen to me. You need to leave right now. You need to go home and stay home until I call you again.”

“What? Why?”

You put the phone up to your ear and pray that someone answers. “Umbrella’s coming and I don’t want you to get involved.”

“What!?” Jenna bolts across the room toward you, immediately followed by Nemesis, who growls furiously at the mention of Umbrella. “Who are you calling now?”

“I’m calling Jill!” you bark, the phone almost falling out of your shaking hands as you listen to the other end of the phone ring. “We’ll be fine! You just need to get out of here!”

“Hell no! I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe!”

“Jenna, you have no idea what you’re dealing with! Umbrella will _kill_ you! Stop being difficult!”

“You and Nemesis can come to my house!” Jenna rambles senselessly.

“How do you expect to get him there, in a sedan? And your parents will lose their shit! We’ll go hide in the woods or something, just get out!”

“But I-“

“Hello?”

You hold up a hand to silence Jenna the moment Jill’s voice rings through the phone speaker. “Jill! It’s (y/n)!”

“(Y/n)? Is something wrong? You don’t sound good.”

“Have you got that anti-bioterrorism thing you told me about in action yet?”

“The Private Anti-Biohazard Service? Yeah, Chris and I have a few operations going. Why?”

“Umbrella found us.”

“What!?” You can practically feel Jill’s tension spike through the phone. “How did they-“

“It’s not important!” you interrupt. “They know where we live, and they could be here any moment! I don’t care what happens to me, you just can’t let them get Nemesis or Jenna!” Nemesis growls and hovers over you, clearly disagreeing.

“Okay, just… I’m getting Chris right now. We’ll send a team to your location and attempt to intercept Umbrella en route. Right now you just need to get somewhere safe.”

“Okay, I can-“

_SLAM!_

You freeze, turning to stare at the front door. That was undeniably the sound of a car door slamming shut. A _big_ car door. It could have been anybody, of course, but you have a feeling it isn’t anybody good. You pull the phone away from your mouth so that Jill can’t hear you. “Jenna, go hide in the closet or something,” you whisper.

“No!” Jenna quietly protests.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n), are you still there?” Jill’s voice echoes through the phone in response to your sudden silence.

“There’s someone outside,” you whisper into the phone. Nemesis has begun to gently pull at your arm with a concerned grumble, urging you to move.

“I’m gonna look through the blinds,” Jenna whispers before creeping toward the window.

“Jenna! No! Don’t get involved!” you hiss as you try to shrug off Nemesis. You can hear Jill talking to someone else on the other end of the line, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. Jenna ignores your command, continuing to sneak across the room. Everything is happening so fast, there’s too many voices, and your mind is reeling trying to process it all. Your legs wouldn’t be able to move even if you wanted them to.

Jenna finally reaches the window and parts two of the blinds with her fingers just enough to peek through. You watch as her entire body tenses with panic. “Oh god! There’s too many-“

Whatever Jenna was about to say is cut off by the sound of the front door being thrown open by some unidentified force, and you reflexively scream and drop the phone. Nemesis immediately throws himself in front of you with an infuriated growl, ready to tear apart anyone who dares to approach you. A million thoughts race through your head as you wait for the inevitable sounds of shouting and gunfire. There’s no doubt they’re more prepared this time. They know that Nemesis’ limits are beyond whatever they previously estimated. They know that you’re a confounding variable to his previously predictable behavior. Surely you won’t be able to simply tackle one man holding an electroshock weapon and call it a day this time. You have no doubt that the house is surrounded and that they’ve come with specialized artillery.

After all, there’s always a bigger fish. Or a smaller fish with bigger weapons, at the very least.

Rather than the chaos you were expecting, however, all you hear is a single metallic clink. Without thinking, you peek out from behind Nemesis and barely manage to catch a glimpse of a cylindrical canister rolling across the floor before a loud bang resonates throughout the living room. You stumble back and raise your arms to your face defensively, vision blinded by the resulting flash of intense white light. You hear the blinds rustle, likely from Jenna stumbling backward in similar surprise. Nemesis roars with frustration, and you can only assume that he was also caught off guard and blinded by the strategically deployed flashbang.

“Nemesis!” you scream in an attempt to guide him to where you’re standing like some twisted game of Marco Polo. You won’t stand a chance if they manage to separate you from him. “Nemesi-MMPH!” A gloved hand reaches around from behind you and covers your mouth as you are shoved onto your knees. You struggle in an attempt to shake off whoever grabbed you, even biting at the hand, but you only get a mouthful of military-grade fabric that muffles your shouts of protest. Your face is shoved into the floor as the person rips their hand from your teeth. They twist your arms behind your back to tie your hands together, and you attempt to scream again. Another set of hands is quick to wrap a gag around your face, shutting you up.

Despite the fact that you have now been silenced, your brief bout of noise was enough to cue Nemesis in on where you are sprawled across the floor. You hear a sickening snap that you can only guess is the sound a human spine makes when snapped in two, and the weight of the individual who tied your hands together falls away. You turn your head to the side in an attempt to see what is going on, but nothing more than disorienting spots of meaningless colors fill your vision. You hear more sounds associated with gruesome death, but it’s difficult to tell exactly which body parts are being crushed and torn apart over the noise of Nemesis’ aggressive snarling. The familiar warmth of freshly shed blood spatters across your clothes, but you find it more satisfying than disturbing considering the situation.

You wonder where the hell Jenna is in all of this. Maybe she managed to run and hide somewhere in the house? Hopefully she wasn’t stupid enough to book it out the back door. There will definitely be people waiting for her back there.

You jump when Nemesis suddenly unleashes an ear-shattering roar, one that you clearly recognize as exuding immense pain, and you roll over onto your side and start to blindly kick in a desperate attempt to trip up anybody you can. What are they doing to him? You don’t hear the buzzing of electricity at all. Does he have some other weakness, something you don’t know about? Your skin crawls with dread as you hear his once menacing voice break into pained choking not unlike the sounds he makes whenever he gets mortally wounded in your nightmares. This is followed by a heavy thud, and your vision finally recovers just enough for you to make out the blurry form of your mate on his hands and knees just meters away, back arched in evident distress, chest heaving with labored breaths. To your surprise, he doesn’t appear to be injured at all. Still, his fingers dig into the floorboards as he tries to ground himself against the pain of whatever they’ve done to him, and the sight makes you feel like someone has stabbed you right in the heart. Tears start to involuntarily flow from your tear ducts as you scream muffled curses into the gag in your mouth, mentally begging him to shake it off and get back up. You’ve never seen him in so much pain.

You were _happy_. You were _free_. Why is this happening? He doesn’t deserve this! _He doesn’t deserve this!_

Someone grabs you by the arm and yanks you to your feet, nearly tearing your shoulder from the socket in the process, and you scream and writhe in sheer rage. Your vision is still spattered with spots, but the outlines of things are mostly returning to normal now. At least a dozen armed Umbrella operatives are scattered throughout your living room, with several more dead and bleeding out on the floor from various missing appendages. To your horror, Jenna has been similarly bound and gagged, blood running down the side of her face from a huge gash on her forehead. She’s crying too, and she looks utterly terrified. You feel like you’re going to be sick. She doesn’t deserve this either.

“This the girl who was fucking around with the B.O.W.?” the man holding you by the arms asks as he attempts to hold your flailing body steady. You seethe internally at the use of the word ‘girl’. A ‘girl’ wouldn’t be ‘fucking around’ with anybody.

Another man in slightly more elaborate combat attire comes to stand in front of you, leaning down to examine your face. You assume he must be the leader of the task force. You try your best to scowl at him, but it’s a difficult look to pull off with a strip of fabric shoved in your mouth and tears on your cheeks. He nods curtly at the man holding you. “Affirmative. Move her to the van.”

“What about this one?” You turn to look at the man who just spoke, the one holding Jenna.

“She ain’t a target,” another man adds.

“Should we just shoot her then?” the first man asks, and your stomach drops. Jenna starts to bawl at this point, looking to you for help that you can’t give. God, Steve is going to kill you if Umbrella doesn’t do it first.

“No, keep her alive for now,” the task force leader commands. “She could have information. Throw her in a separate van and keep her guarded. We don’t know what she’s capable of.” You aren’t really in the right state of mind to appreciate humor right now, but you suppose that seeing these people treating Jenna like a potential threat would be hilarious in any other circumstance.

You turn your attention back to Nemesis. He’s gone silent aside from his raspy breaths, barely supporting himself on his elbows and resting his forehead against the cold wooden floor in apparent exhaustion. His fingers left splintered gashes in the floorboards, but now his hands are simply clenched into fists, every muscle in his body tensed to the point of paralysis. He’s staring intently at you with desperation, as if you’re the only thing helping him through the pain, the only thing keeping him anchored in reality. You strain yourself in an attempt to escape your captor and rush over to him, but you're wearing out fast.

Your eyes continue to scan him for nonexistent injuries, stopping at the back of his neck. There is something that wasn’t there before, a large metallic device that almost seems to be drilled into the base of his skull. Could it be some kind of modified power limiter that they managed to get onto him while he was blinded? There’s nothing else wrong with him that you can see, so logically the device must be what’s causing his otherwise inexplicable weakness and pain. They were better prepared this time alright, prepared enough to take Nemesis down in a couple minutes with only a few casualties using nothing more than a single carefully-engineered device. If only you weren’t so helpless, if only your hands weren’t tied behind your back, you’d force your way over there and tear it out of him. You wouldn’t even care if they shot you in the process. You just want Nemesis to be okay.

One thought rises above all others at the sight of your mate keeled over on the floor. You were supposed to keep him safe, and you failed.

“Search the house for anyone else,” the leader orders, and several of the men begin to disperse into the other rooms. “Keep guarding the exits until the area’s confirmed clear. Let’s get these ladies where they need to go, then we’ll load the B.O.W. into the transport crate.” You narrow your eyes at the thought of them putting Nemesis in a crate like some inanimate object. Like a weapon, you suppose, and nothing more than that.

With a violent jolt, the man holding you begins to drag you toward the front door. You try to resist, but your feet simply skid against the floor, and you eventually give up and reluctantly trudge in the direction he’s guiding you in. Another man follows close behind with Jenna, who doesn’t seem to be putting up much of a fight simply out of fear for the repercussions. You try to turn your head to make eye contact with her, to at least try to offer her some kind of reassuring glance, but the man dragging you wrenches your arm to show you your place, and you immediately face forward again just to make the pain stop. You try to cast one last glance at Nemesis before you are pushed outside, but the man just wrenches your arm a second time and blocks your view.

As soon as you step outside, it becomes obvious what Jenna was trying to say there were too many of. There are at least five vans parked in the gravel driveway and the surrounding field, stereotypically unmarked and black, with no windows aside from tinted windshields. Leave it to the evil bioweapons corporation to take inspiration from the men-in-black. It would be amusing if you weren’t busy holding back a post traumatic relapse. In addition to the vans, there are operatives everywhere. They’re watching every door, every window, armed to the teeth with guns and flashbangs, dressed in so much Kevlar that you’re surprised they can even move.

You and Jenna are quickly forced to part ways, and you hear Jenna begin to panic incoherently through her gag followed by the sound of her escort thwapping her in the back of the head to shut her up. Your own captor leads you to the back of one of the vans, and another man opens the doors to reveal a large military-style interior with benches along each side. As you are pushed into the vehicle, you swear you see something moving in the bushes at the end of the drive, but you don’t have time to look closer before your view is obscured by the dark walls of the van. Probably just a squirrel or something.

Instead of being seated on the benches, you are instead thrown carelessly to the floor. Several operatives enter the van behind you, taking their places on the benches, all of their eyes trained on you to make sure you don’t try to make a break for it. You recognize the final operative to enter as the leader from before. Once the van is full, the doors shut, and you are immersed in near darkness, the only visibility coming from a single strip of yellow light on the ceiling of the compartment.

The silence in the van is deafening. None of the men speak to each other. None of them speak to you. You aren’t sure if you prefer it that way or not. You feel how you imagine cattle must feel being led to the slaughter, tied up and thrown into the back of a vehicle like nothing more than a piece of meat, unable to voice your opinion on the matter. With the confinement of the vehicle’s imposing walls separating you from the outside world, your thoughts finally begin to focus on this new reality. Memories of the time you previously spent with Umbrella flash through your mind, images of being strapped down and tortured, interrogated and mocked, stripped of every human right, and you feel your panic begin to overpower your desperate attempts to stay calm. Your entire body shakes as you begin to quietly sob. It feels like the walls of the van are closing in around you, like you’re trying to breathe underwater, like someone has stuck their hands inside your chest and is squeezing all your insides. You try to push it back down, to clear your mind enough to come up with some kind of plan, but it’s pointless. You can’t even bring yourself to sit up, simply laying on your side and shivering in your sweat-drenched clothes, your knees tucked against your chest and your head tucked down in a position of defeated submission.

It feels like hours before anything else happens, at least long enough for your hands to fall asleep. Eventually the van floor vibrates as the engine rumbles to life, and you can hear more car doors slamming outside. With a sudden lurch, the vehicle moves forward, and you shut your eyes as if that will make things any better. You don’t want to think about where they’re taking you. You don’t want to think about anything at all. Part of you prays that this is just another one of your nightmares, that you’ll wake up screaming in your bed and Nemesis will hold you close and reassure you that it wasn’t real. But a more reasonable part of you knows that this isn’t a dream this time. This is real. This is real, and there’s no way they’re going to let you get away from them again.

After several minutes, maybe even hours, of driving, you feel a boot toe harshly jab you in the small of your back, and you whimper with pained surprise. You suppose it was only a matter of time before the men in the van got bored of staring at your unmoving form. The man who you assume kicked you chuckles, breaking the silence. “She’s smaller than I thought she’d be,” he mumbles.

“What’d’ya mean?” another man says, his voice gruffer.

“I mean she’s fucking tiny,” the first man replies, speaking more clearly now that he’s addressing someone specific. “Too tiny to survive fucking a Tyrant, at least.” He kicks you harder in the spine, and you stifle a cry. “Slut must be bigger on the inside than the outside.” This is met by sporadic chortles from around the van, and you can feel your face turning red. You immediately miss the silence from before.

“I heard the poindexters wanted to breed her at some point,” another man states.

“Can you blame ‘em?” the gruff man replies. “I doubt they get any action cooped up in those labs all day.”

‘D’ya think they’d let us watch?”

“God, I fucking hope so. I could use some entertainment, if you know what I mean.” There are several murmurs of solidarity.

“Don’t get your hopes up. They never let us see anything interesting.”

“I bet they’ll film it for analysis. Multiple angles, good lighting, audio, the works. We could bribe someone for a copy.”

“That ain’t the same as a live show, my man.”

“Didn’t know you were into voyeurism, Ron.”

“Don’t kink shame me, Lopez.”

“I’d be fine with just the footage. It’s hard to get your hands on decent porn anymore.”

“You think watching this puny bitch get railed by Tyrant dick is gonna be decent porn?”

“Hell, decent is an understatement. It’d be a fucking masterpiece. I wanna see this bitch squirm.” You’re kicked again, but you don’t care about the physical pain at this point. All you can feel is humiliation.

“You all have no dignity.” You recognize the authoritative voice of the leader from before, and the rest of the men go silent. Someone lets out an awkward stray cough. After a moment, the leader’s voice speaks up again. “If you’re gonna humiliate her, at least make sure she’s paying attention instead of laying on the ground like a dead animal.”

The van erupts into mocking laughter, and the man closest to you immediately leans down and grabs you by the hair. You gasp as he yanks your head off the floor to look at him. “You paying attention now?” You make a conscious effort to look down at the ground, and he tightens his grip until it feels like he’s going to rip the skin off your skull. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch!” Your eyes dart up to meet his, but you aren’t really looking at him, just through him.

The man sitting next to him grabs your cheeks and turns you to face him instead. “That’s right, look at us while you’ve got the chance, girl, ‘cause you ain’t gonna be able to see us when we’re jacking off to ya getting impregnated by Tyrant boy. I bet you’re a moaner, aren’t ya? Maybe a screamer?” Your face reddens even further, and you’d spit on the man if only there wasn’t a gag in your mouth.

“Hah! Look at her face turning red!”

Another man grabs you by the neck and yanks your empty gaze toward him, and the sharp pain of a pulled muscle ripples through your shoulder. “You like monster dick, huh? Human men too boring for you? You’re decent looking, too. Figures you’d be into weird shit.”

“That’s the problem with women, the good-looking ones always want something weird.”

“Are you sure it isn’t just your face that’s the problem, Ron?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lopez.”

“Yeah, shut up, Lopez. Even Ron looks like a model compared to that virus-infected fuckface.” More laughter.

“Do you think she’s kissed that face?”

“Who cares if she’s sucked its face? I wanna know if she’s sucked its dick.”

“Asking the important questions, I see.”

“Man, I’d kill to watch her cute little face choke on monster dick.”

“I wanna see her beg for it.”

“Ah, a man of quality.”

“I really don’t care what she does as long as I get to watch.” The man holding you by the neck throws you back to the floor, and you simply let yourself go limp, completely drained of any will to fight back.

“Shit, I think we broke her. She looks dead as a doornail.”

“Nah, she’s still breathing.” Another kick, this time in the stomach, and you groan in pain. “See? She’s fine.” Several of the men laugh.

“Don’t know if I’d call that ‘fine’, but whatever.”

The men seem content to leave your unresponsive body on the floor as they continue their vulgar banter. You aren’t sure what they’re even talking about anymore, your brain blocking out the words if only to spare you a tiny sliver of your sanity. You thought Dr. Richards had been crude when mocking you, but these people are an entirely different level of crude. You feel completely numb, completely lifeless, like your soul has been sucked out and replaced with incorporeal lidocaine. You simply stare distantly at the cold gray floor; if someone were to look into your eyes, they’d probably assume you’re dead.

Your father’s voice echoes in your head. “ _We would have been better off if she’d just been eaten by zombies..._ ”

You're starting to wonder if _you_ would have been better off if you’d just been eaten by zombies, too.


	16. Relative Interference

_Tuesday, March 9, 1999_

When 7:30 hits and Jenna isn’t home, Steve tries not to think too hard about it. She’s never been home late before, but there’s a first for everything. Perhaps she didn’t realize how low the gas tank was and she had to make an emergency stop to fill up her car.

When 7:40 hits, Steve tells himself that she must have run into the gas station while she was at it to stock up on snacks. He’s tried so hard to convince himself that you aren’t dangerous. Surely, if you were dangerous, you would have done something by now. Still, he can’t shake the nervous pang in his gut.

When 7:50 hits, Steve puts away the textbook he was studying and paces over to the window. Jenna’s car still isn’t in the driveway. He paces downstairs to check the answering machine. No missed calls. He paces into the living room to ask his parents if Jenna mentioned anything about staying out late tonight. They don’t recall any such conversation. He paces back up to his room and stares at the clock on the desk. It shouldn’t take twenty minutes to get gas and snacks.

When 8:00 hits, Steve gives in to the little bubble of panic forming in his chest. He grabs his backpack and starts to fill it with various equipment: wallet, flashlight, pocketknife, the glitchy video camera he salvaged from tech club, the tracker he built using the GPS tech Jenna got him for Christmas, the microphone he rewired from a two-way radio with a busted speaker, the speaker he rewired from the other two-way radio with a busted microphone. He still refuses to believe that anything is wrong, but it’s better to be prepared, just in case.

When 8:10 hits, Steve decides that it was really, really stupid for him to trust you. He tells his parents that he’s going to the library, grabs the keys to the family car, and heads out to find Jenna. It’s possible that she just lost track of the time and he’s making a fuss over nothing. But it’s also possible that something has gone horribly wrong, and if so, he’s going to be the one who does something about it. He doesn’t know what he’s planning to do, exactly, or what to even expect. Even if you have done something to Jenna, and even if he does try to help her, what does he think he’s going to accomplish other than getting smooshed into a bloody pancake?

Steve tunes the radio between stations and sets the volume low as he drives across town, filling the car with subtle white noise. He doesn’t want to be distracted by music, but he also doesn’t want to drive in eerie silence. A few raindrops hit the windshield as thunder rumbles quietly in the distance, and he turns the windshield wipers on low. He doesn’t appreciate the mood the weather is trying to set, a mood that fills him with a sense of foreboding.

He knew he couldn’t trust you. He knew you were planning something all this time. He’s such a fool for falling for your friendly ruse. Upon further consideration, he realizes that he’s just as much of a fool for thinking he’s going to rescue his sister by himself. He’ll probably just faint again if he doesn’t get murdered first. Why doesn’t he just call the police? He supposes it’s because they wouldn’t listen to his story about a lady with a giant bioweapon kidnapping his sister with no evidence at all aside from a broken promise.

When Steve turns onto the road that leads up into the mountains, he is struck with a paranoid realization. Jenna has surely told you that he’s the reason she tries to be home by 7:30 every Tuesday, which means you know that her disappearance will quickly raise his suspicions. You’ll be expecting him. You’ll be watching for his headlights, listening for the roaring of the engine and the slamming of the car door. And that simply won’t do. Steve decides he’ll park the car off the side of the road a little way down from the house and walk the rest of the distance to give himself the element of surprise.

As Steve pulls off the road to park in a small patch of grass among the trees, he begins to feel the effects of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He gains a sudden rush of focus, a determination fueled by his rapidly increasing heart rate. He’s spent so much time playing ridiculous scenarios in his video games, rescue missions included, and of course his imagination has speculated what it would be like to live out those fantastical adventures. He has to admit that underneath the mortification at whatever the hell he’s about to do, he feels a rising excitement. This isn’t a video game this time, this is real life. He doesn’t get extra lives, he isn’t protected by the fourth wall, he can’t learn what to do from a cheap guidebook or his classmate who won’t stop bragging about already beating the game twice. But this is also his chance to actually do something interesting, to form a story that he can tell for decades to come even though it’s unlikely anyone with a brain will believe it. He just wishes he’d invested more time into the horror genre before now.

The engine goes quiet and the headlights go dark before Steve pulls the keys from the ignition, slings his backpack over his shoulders, and exits the car. He closes the door as softly as he can even though it would be impossible for anyone at the house to hear him from this distance. God, it’s dark without the headlights. The trees and the clouds blocking the moonlight aren’t helping either. He can’t see shit. He digs around in the backpack until he finds the flashlight, flicking the switch to light up a dim path along the road. Walking through the woods with nothing but a flashlight… He can’t help but think that this would make a hit video game if only he added some menial objective.

Steve treks up the road through the light drizzle of rain, keeping his flashlight aimed at the ground in front of him to avoid detection. The steep uphill hike isn’t the most pleasant experience in the world, causing his calves and thighs to burn with exertion after just a few minutes, but the adrenaline numbs the discomfort and pushes him forward. As he gets closer to his destination, the faint sound of his footsteps against the asphalt is joined by distant commotion. Steve stops in his tracks, ears straining to hear whatever is going on up ahead. He doesn’t know what he was expecting to find up here, but it certainly didn’t involve the voices of several grown men. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe there’s something bigger going on.

With a click, Steve shuts off the flashlight, the subtle glow of multiple sets of headlights over the horizon providing just enough visibility for him to navigate without tripping onto his face. He steps off the road and into the cover of the trees, flinching at the sound of last autumn’s leaves crunching under his sneakers. The last thing he needs to do is make noise, but he’d rather take his chances making noise in hiding than being silent out in the open. He steps as lightly as he can, the voices growing louder as he approaches the cabin. He can’t tell what any of them are saying, and he knows he’ll need to get a visual to figure out what’s going on.

Steve dives deeper into the woods and prays that the light pattering of the rain will mask the rustling of dead undergrowth. He spots a wall of evergreen bushes at the tree line and heads toward those, ducking down behind the foliage to stay unseen. As subtly as he can, he pushes his hands through a thin portion of the shrubbery to peek through, and his heart rate spikes at the sight that greets him.

The clearing surrounding the cabin is littered with huge black vans, their headlights illuminating the immediate vicinity. The vans are unmarked aside from the standard license plates, the designs of which appear to be from a different state but are too far away to determine which one. Still, Steve can deduce that the vans must be either federal or corporate based on their identical makes and models. For every van there are at least a dozen people scattered throughout the clearing. Some of them are gathered in groups. Some of them are pointing guns at the cabin windows. All of them are dressed in gear suitable for a military raid.

Steve’s eyes shift toward movement at the front door. Several individuals are exiting the cabin, but Steve can’t make out who they are from this far away. They branch off into two groups of two, each group heading toward a different van, and Steve can hear cries of panic from the rightmost group, cries that are undeniably made by none other than his sister. He feels a terror unlike anything he has ever experienced, a terror that feels like it’s gripping his heart and squeezing. If there weren’t men with weapons standing everywhere, he’d probably burst out of the bushes right now and tackle whoever is making her cry like that. The crying is quickly quashed, however, when the man walking beside her smacks her hard in the back of the head and tells her to shut up. Steve can feel the blood rushing to his face, enraged that someone would do such a thing to his sister. He watches with horror as Jenna is thrown into the back of one of the vans, and he barely catches the fact that she is bound and gagged.

Steve begins plotting just how he is going to kill you for betraying Jenna like this, but he pauses when his eyes drift over to the other group of individuals who exited the house. There is another man guiding another woman who is also bound and gagged, that woman being you, and Steve’s hatred is immediately replaced by utter confusion. You aren’t responsible for this. This isn’t some grand scheme on your part. You and Jenna are _both_ being abducted right now.

Why is it that whenever Steve thinks he finally understands what’s going on, something like _this_ happens?

Tears threaten to breach Steve’s tear ducts, and he can feel his breathing accelerating with the onset of an anxiety attack. He is confused and afraid and angry, but most importantly, he is completely helpless, unable to do anything to take control of the situation. His hands rush to his mouth to hold back any sounds he might involuntarily make in distress. His body shakes from both the cold rain soaking his clothes and the flood of painful emotions. He tries telling himself that he needs to be a man, that he needs to keep his head clear, that he needs to do something, but his will is no match for his terror.

Amid his panic, Steve’s foot slips into a ditch and he crashes headfirst into the bush, wildly shaking the branches. His eyes dart up in horror to see if anybody noticed the sudden movement. He sees your head swerve to the side in alarm, but you are quickly shoved into the back of a van and out of sight. Luckily is seems that you are the only one who saw anything, and Steve heaves a shaky sigh of relief as he slowly rights himself, scolding himself for being so careless. The rush of adrenaline from the fall seems to have knocked a little bit of sense back into him, and he grasps onto it for dear life in hopes of anchoring himself back in rationality. As difficult as it is, he forces his breathing to grow slower and steadier and tries to still his shaking body.

Nothing else happens for a while aside from men entering and exiting the house and circling the property, and Steve uses his returning awareness to grasp for any semblance of a plan. He can’t just run in guns a-blazing; he’d get shot down in an instant, and he doesn’t have any guns to go a-blazing with anyway. Pocketknife a-blazing just wouldn’t be as effective. Or cool. He also can’t call the police. It’d take way too long to get back to his car, drive back down the mountain, and find a phone. If only he’d given in and purchased that Nokia he saw at the radio store last month.

Suddenly, Steve is struck with an ingenious idea. As quietly as he can, he pulls the backpack from his shoulders and begins to search through his equipment with trembling hands, pulling out the homemade tracker. He set it up to push data to his PC a while back. If he can just get the tracker into one of the vans somehow, he can take his time convincing the police of his sister’s plight without worrying about losing track of her whereabouts. But how the hell is he supposed to pull that off with all these armed men patrolling the area?

Steve peeks out of the bush again to see if anything has progressed and scout for an opportunity. Several of the men are dragging objects that look like they’re made of tarp out of the house, and Steve quickly realizes that they are body bags. He’d utter something along the lines of “holy shit” if he wasn’t worried about being heard by somebody. As the body bags are hauled away from the house, a massive steel container is wheeled toward the house and aligned by the front door. At this point, several of the men begin to load into the backs of the vans. The remaining men congregate around the metal crate. The body bags are left in the grass behind one of the vehicles.

Unguarded.

Steve sees the opportunity and takes it. Without thinking too much about how stupid this idea is, he darts out from the bush and hustles across the clearing toward the bags, turning on the tracker as he runs. He slips into the shadow of the van, sights set on the nearest bag. After peeking around the vehicle to make sure nobody is watching, he lunges toward the zipper and yanks it open, only to be greeted by the corpse of a man who’s had his head quite literally crushed, blood and brain matter oozing out of whatever small amount of skull remains.

Steve can’t believe he sat across the room from the thing that probably did that at one point.

He tries not to hurl as he shoves the tracker deep into the bag where it won’t get drenched in circuit-breaking bodily fluids, the back of his hand and arm brushing against wet giblets that are still warm from the recency of the death. Adrenaline is the only thing keeping him from fainting at this point. Once the tracker is firmly nestled up against the corpse, Steve yanks his hand from the carnage with a shudder-inducing squish and rezips the body bag.

With his sleeve now covered in blood and brains, he books it back to the tree line and hurtles back into the bushes. He quickly spins back around to look out into the clearing, and to his shock, nobody appears to have been alerted to his presence. If he wasn’t terrified to the point of nearly throwing up, he might just feel proud of himself for pulling off a stunt he might have only ever seen in a spy movie.

As Steve hypes himself up to sneak back through the woods to his car, he notices the rest of the men loading into the backs of the vans. The body bags are thrown in the back too, along with the metal crate from before, which now seems to be a lot heavier based on how many men it takes to maneuver the thing. Doors slam shut, engines start, and vehicles begin to move, the convoy of suspicious vans rolling across the drive and back onto the road. Steve watches as they drive into the night, headlights disappearing down the mountain and leaving him in complete darkness.

Perhaps, Steve considers, it would be faster and smarter to just call the police from the cabin. He waits a few minutes to make sure the vans are truly gone before turning on the flashlight and sprinting across the clearing to the front door, which has been left wide open. He shines the flashlight beam into the familiar living room, and it’s obvious that there was a struggle. The light reflects off several puddles of bright red blood adorned with a few stray appendages that didn’t get picked up. Massive scratches are gauged into the floorboards in two sets of five, like claw marks made without claws. A single aluminum can lays knocked over on the floor, flat off-brand soda spilled everywhere. Steve supposes that he should be unnerved by the abandoned state of the home, but for some reason it strikes him more as depressing.

When Steve locates the phone, he is met with disappointment. The cord has been cut, rendering the device completely useless for contacting the police. With an exasperated sigh, Steve turns to leave and head back to his car, but he pauses before he makes it too far. He realizes that he essentially has unimpeded access to your house. This is his chance to snoop around with no repercussions, to figure out if you were hiding anything, to piece together some puzzle that he's certain exists. Maybe he can find something that will clue him in on the circumstances of what he witnessed tonight, something that will help the police locate his sister, evidence that will convince the police to even listen to him in the first place.

Steve wanders over to the furniture in front of the fireplace. He spots the television you mentioned at Christmas surrounded by stacks of VHS tapes of various movies. He recognizes some of them as the ones Jenna bought at that Black Friday sale in November, the ones she said were a gift. They must have been the present she gave you to give to that _thing_. Alien sits at the top of the stack, the cardboard cover already fraying from frequent use.

Steve turns toward the end table and picks up a spiral-bound notebook. Flipping through the pages yields an inventory of random words. As he progresses through the pages, the handwriting gradually becomes more legible and the words turn into sentences of growing complexity, yet the grammar always feels slightly off, as if it was written by someone who doesn’t quite grasp the English language. There is a distinct lack of first-person pronouns and definite articles. Most of the sentences are about someone called ‘mate’: lists of ‘mate’s’ favorite things, stories of ‘mate’s’ memories, things that ‘mate’ says, descriptions of ‘mate’s’ appearance that come across as quite flattering despite the blatantly poor attempt at using flowery language. It reminds Steve of the notes he takes in class, except these notes are borderline obsessive and are about a single person instead of trigonometry or world history.

Something on the mantle catches Steve’s attention: a single holiday card. He reaches out and takes it to examine, shining the flashlight on the words. “Holiday Wishes” is etched onto a wintery landscape on the outside. The inside of the card contains a prewritten greeting, but he finds himself more interested in the long handwritten note crammed into the empty space. He skims the words and realizes that it is from your mother, then furrows his brow at the vague mention of some kind of familial falling out. It did seem rather convenient that both your parents got the flu on Christmas, now that he thinks about it. He rereads the last few sentences a couple times, gears turning in his head.

> _All I want is for you to know that no matter where your life may take you, I will always wish you happiness and safety, even in the strangest of endeavors._
> 
> _I send you – and Nemesis - my best wishes for a future full of love and blessings._
> 
> _Love you always,_
> 
> _Mom_

Steve feels sick. Despite everything that’s happened, despite everything he’s seen, everything in this room strikes Steve as strangely, disconcertingly, solemnly _harmless_. Well-loved movies, written words of devoted affection, maternal blessings. Is this really the life you lived? The life that _thing_ lived? A life so peaceful, so quiet, so inappropriately mundane? Steve recalls how you sounded whenever you said you just want people to leave you alone. Exasperated. Tired. Afraid.

Maybe you really were telling the truth all along.

“Freeze! Put your hands up!”

The card falls from Steve’s hands and hits the floor as he spins around to face the overbearing voice booming from the front door, his hands shooting into the air in immediate surrender. Standing in the door frame is a man in military attire, but it is different attire than what was worn by the men that were here previously. The man approaches Steve while pointing a submachine gun in his face. Several more people in identical attire stream into the house.

“W-who are you?” Steve stammers, trying once again to not pass out on the spot.

The man examines Steve from head to toe, assessing his civilian attire and terrified complexion, and his gaze softens slightly. “Oregon anti-biohazard task force. Who are you?”

“Steven Stewart,” Steve replies shakily.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for my sister,” Steve explains, staring at the gun now pointed at his chest and fighting off more tears. “Look, I’m just some high school student. I don’t want to get involved with-“

“Looks like Umbrella’s already been here, sir,” another man says as he approaches from behind, cutting off Steve’s plea of innocence. “There’s signs of a struggle. Looks like there were probably some casualties.”

“Shit. Valentine was right about the screaming then. Umbrella could have taken them anywhere by now.”

Steve's heart skips a beat at the mention of the corporation. He remembers everything you told him about them engineering bioweapons and their involvement with the Raccoon City Incident. Anything involving Umbrella can't be a good thing. “Umbrella? Those people were from Umbrella?”

The two men turn to stare at Steve. “What do you mean ‘those people’? You saw what happened here?”

“Yes! They kidnapped my sister!”

“Wait, this kid said his name’s Stewart. His sister must be the Jenna Stewart that Valentine mentioned was involved with all this.”

Steve's heart continues to race faster with every sentence he hears. “How do you know my sister’s name?”

The first man takes a deep breath, finally lowering the gun that is still pointed at Steve’s chest. “An hour ago, we were contacted by an associate of your sister.”

“(Y/n),” Steve murmurs.

The man nods. “Yes, her. She’s wanted by Umbrella for possession of a stolen bioweapon and classified information that could undermine their research. She informed us that Umbrella had become aware of her location and requested our assistance."

A glimmer of hope appears in the back of Steve’s mind at this revelation. He wasn’t sure he could trust these people considering that his first impression was having a gun pointed at him. But if they know about (y/n), and they know about Jenna, and they’re working against Umbrella, they surely must be on his side. "So you can help rescue my sister?"

"We want to help, yes, but we’re going to need you to tell us everything you saw. Any information could help us track them down.”

Steve nods. “I mean, I didn’t see everything that happened because I was hiding in the bushes by the road. But there were a bunch of unmarked black vans parked around the house.”

“How many?”

“I dunno, five or six?”

“Did you catch any of the license plates?”

“Uh, no. But they looked out of state.”

“Alright. Proceed.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “They put Jenna and (y/n) in the backs of two of the vans. They were both tied up and had gags in their mouths. They brought out some body bags too, and they had this big metal box, but I don’t know what was in it. They drove off maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

“Of course we just missed them,” one of the men mutters.

“Do you think five to six big black vans is enough information to find them with?” the other man asks.

“Sounds like a stretch, but I can consult Redfield about it.”

Steve raises a trembling hand to interject. “I might be able to help you find them.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Uh, well, I’m really into electronics, and I built this GPS tracker that pushes location data to my computer back home, and I managed to slip it into one of the body bags.”

They stare at Steve for a few seconds before one of the men chuckles and shakes his head. “Damn crazy kid.” He turns to the other man. “Keep searching the property for anything that might be of use. I’m going to go see if this kid’s claims are worth anything.”

“Should I contact Redfield anyway?”

“I’ll take care of it. You focus on getting this area secure.”

“Yes, sir.” The man turns and walks away to join the others in searching the house.

“My car is parked off the side of the road just a couple minutes away,” Steve says nervously. “I can drive you to my house to get the data from my PC if you want.”

“We’ll take one of our own vehicles,” the man replies curtly, turning to head out the front door.

Steve hurries behind him. “What about my car? It’s my parents’ car, they’ll be pissed if I leave it.”

“We’ll come back for it later.”

Steve doesn’t feel like he’s in any position to argue with a man who has tactical gear and a gun, so he refrains from protesting. “Do you have a way I can contact my parents at least? I should probably tell them ahead of time that I’m coming home in a military vehicle.”

“Sorry kid. We’ve only got radio communication, no phones.” By this point the two have reached one of the vehicles parked outside. Steve wonders how he didn't hear them pull up; he supposes he was just shook to the point of disorientation. The man gestures for Steve to get in the passenger seat before jumping through the driver’s side door. Steve obliges, climbing up into the leather seat that’s a bit too high off the ground to be easily accessible. His parents are going to flip when they find out what’s going on. He’s surprised _he_ isn’t flipping now that he knows what’s going on. He’s being dragged into some covert anti-bioterrorism rescue operation like he’s an underdog character in some over-the-top action movie. He figured his senior year would be eventful, but this is just ridiculous.

As the man starts the engine of the vehicle and drives out toward the road, Steve feels all the emotion he’s been suppressing welling up. He tries to fight it, but his adrenaline rush has worn off, and his tough facade inevitably cracks. He lets out an ugly sob, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he covers his face with his arms to hide his outburst from his escort sitting in the driver’s seat. He told himself that he’d toughen up when he turned eighteen, that he’d finally figure out how to act like a man, but right now he just feels like a little kid all over again. His classmates always told him he was all bark and no bite, a pushover. He always just cursed them out, but now he supposes they were right all along. Is this why he came out here all alone? Is this why he was always picking fights with you, threatening you? Not only to protect his sister, but to prove that he could stand up for himself? He feels humiliated and weak.

“Deep breaths, kid,” the driver speaks up. “I know this is a lot, and I know you’re scared, and I know you’re worried about your sister. Get your crying out now, because I’m going to need you to be coherent when we get to your place.”

Steve peeks out from behind his bloody sleeve. He’d expected to be told to shut up and man up, not be consoled. “You saying I _should_ cry?” he quietly asks.

“I mean, I’m not saying you _have_ to. But there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Steve shakes his head. “Men don’t cry. Crying’s a sign of weakness.”

“Don’t give me that manliness bullshit. Crying’s a sign of humanity. It’s when you _stop_ crying over fucked up shit that you’ve got a problem.” He sighs heavily. “That’s when you know you’ve gotten desensitized. That’s when you know something broke in you, something you can’t ever fix. So you bawl your eyes out if you want to, kid. I’m not judging you. If anything, I’m envying you.”

Steve sniffs and lowers his arms from his face. He spends the next few minutes crying unapologetically, the driver remaining silent as he focuses on the road ahead. As the sobbing dies down into nothing more than an occasional sniffle, Steve has to admit that he feels better now that he’s relieved the growing pressure behind his eyes. He glances at the driver out of the corner of his vision. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Nothing to thank me for.”

Steve nods. “Is there something I can call you?”

“Conrad’s fine.”

“Alright.”

The man known as Conrad reaches for the radio transceiver built into the dashboard and adjusts some settings. “Redfield, you there? I’ve got a lead. Over.”

Another man’s voice emits from the radio. “I hear you. Over.”

“Valentine was right, Umbrella was already here. I’ve got a civilian witness who claims to be Stewart’s brother. He says they took (y/n) and Stewart, still alive. No information on the status of the B.O.W. yet. The kid says he managed to slip a tracking device into one of Umbrella’s vehicles. I’m taking him back to his place of residence to examine the location data. If it’s anything worthwhile, I’ll have it securely transmitted to you. Over.”

“I’ll let Jill know. Keep us updated. Over.”

“Can do. Over and out.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at the mention of the familiar name. “You work with someone named Jill?”

Conrad nods. “Yep, that’s Valentine. You know her?”

“Not exactly,” Steve murmurs. “I just know about her through hearing (y/n) talk.”

“How well do you know (y/n)?”

“Hardly at all,” Steve mutters. “I’ve only talked to her three or four times. Jenna’s the one who knows her well.”

“Fair enough.”

Steve wrings his hands together. “You said Umbrella wanted (y/n) because she stole a bioweapon from them. Is that… Nemesis?”

Conrad gives Steve a surprised glance out of the corner of his eye. “You know about Nemesis?”

“I mean, I’ve seen him. Don’t know too much, though.”

Conrad goes quiet for a few seconds. “Valentine never told anybody except Redfield about him before today. All they told us is that he’s some experimental B.O.W. that went rogue and ran off with this (y/n) lady. I guess that’s why Valentine was so adamant that we protect this thing from Umbrella, because a docile bioweapon is hard to come by. Sounded like a bunch of bullshit to me, though. That’s just not what B.O.W.’s do, you know? But you said you’ve actually seen him?”

“Uh, yeah. Only twice, and the first time was just a glimpse, but I’ve seen him.”

“Was he really docile?”

“Well, he’s no puppy, but he didn’t kill me even after I was a total prick, for whatever that’s worth,” Steve muses.

Conrad hums to himself. “Interesting. What’s he look like?”

Steve shuffles uncomfortably in the confines of his seat belt. “Eight feet tall, messed up skin, muscular enough to tear a person in half. Missing an eye, no lips, no hair either. Pretty hideous if you ask me, but don’t tell (y/n) I said that, or she’ll have me skinned alive.”

Conrad chuckles. “Sounds like an ugly motherfucker.”

Steve stares out the window even though it’s too dark to see anything that isn’t lit by the headlights. “Yeah. I still can’t believe (y/n) fucks that thing.” His fingers dig into the leather of the seat as the vehicle nearly swerves off the side of the road.

“What!?” Conrad barks.

Steve turns to stare at the man. “You… didn’t know about that?”

“No!”

Steve purses his lips and looks away. “Oops.”

Conrad stammers for words. “I thought he was her weird pet or something!” A booming laugh punctuates his rambling. “I thought Valentine was interested in these two because they were assets! Turns out the B.O.W.’s just got a human lover! I wonder if Redfield knows about this! Holy hell!”

“Well, you didn’t hear it from me,” Steve murmurs. “If they didn’t tell you about it, it was probably for a reason, right? Maybe they thought it’d look like a weakness on (y/n)’s part?”

Conrad snorts. “You kidding? Romancing a B.O.W. as a weakness? That’s a fucking power move. I bet this woman’s terrifying.”

Steve isn’t sure ‘terrifying’ is the word he would use to describe you. Stubborn, perhaps. Someone who isn’t afraid to stand their ground. But it’s hard to be terrified by someone who looks like they could be blown over by a stray gust of wind.

The lights of the town finally appear through the trees, and the vehicle pulls out from the base of the mountain road. Steve begins to direct Conrad on where to go, and as they get closer to his house, he begins to really come to terms with how insane all of this is; not just the bioterrorism and the kidnapping and all that, but the fact that he managed to actually do something. He might just be the reason that someone finds and saves his sister. Who cares if he nearly fainted, nearly threw up, ugly sobbed in front of a man trained in military combat? He did _something_.

Video games are going to seem underwhelming as hell when he’s through with this nightmare.


	17. Like a Moth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abandon hope all ye who enter here AND I HAVE NO REGRETS.

_Wednesday, March 10, 1999_

You glare at the opaque glass on the wall, your hands folded neatly on the long metal table. You’ve seen this in movies before. You know there are people on the other side watching you. So you simply stare at what you think must be eye level. Maybe you can unnerve them a little, make them think you can see through the glass somehow even though you can’t. A single fluorescent light flickers on the ceiling, and you hope it makes you look creepier sitting alone in the middle of the all-gray room.

It feels like you’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, staring at these people that you can’t actually see. When you finally got to wherever they were taking you, they dragged you out of the back of the van, shoved you through some doors and down some hallways, untied and ungagged you, and stuck you in this room. It’s been quiet since then. You don’t know what they want you to do in here, if anything at all. The door next to the glass pane just continues to remain shut, almost mocking you. The exit is literal feet away, but you can’t open it. Stupid. Maybe they just want to see how long it takes for the isolation to drive you insane.

If there’s one good thing that has come from this waiting game, it’s that you’ve had time to regain your composure. You had been so shocked by Umbrella’s sudden entrance, so distraught by Nemesis’ apparent agony, so guilted by Jenna’s panic, that you didn’t have any energy to spare when those men in the van were tormenting you. You just laid there limply and quietly cried. Now that you’ve had some time to recover, you feel the same defiance growing within you that you felt when you refused to scream for Richards. You aren’t going down easily next time. You’re going down fighting.

You finally break imaginary eye contact with the glass when you hear the lock on the door click. The metal door swings open, and a single man walks in, swiftly shutting the door behind himself. He isn’t wearing a lab coat, nor is he wearing tactical gear. He’s dressed like any man that you might pass on the street, nice enough to come across as respectable but casual enough to not catch anyone’s attention. You stare at his face and find that you can’t pinpoint how old he might be. His dark brown hair and clean-shaven face suggest that he is no older than forty, but the wrinkles on his skin and dark circles under his eyes make him look much older. It looks untimely, like he’s been aged prematurely by decades of unbearable stress. You watch as he slowly walks over to the table and sits in the chair across from you, exuding a calm restraint that makes you think of your late uncle whenever he would sit at the kitchen table with his morning coffee and watch the birdfeeders through the window.

He stares at you, expressionless aside from the tiredness evident behind his eyes, and you stare back, also expressionless. You wait for him to say something, to tell you who he is, to ask you a question, to at least mock you in some sense, but he doesn’t. He just stares in silence, quiet enough for you to hear the faint ticking of his wristwatch. You resist the powerful urge to shuffle uncomfortably in your seat, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.

Finally, the stillness in the air shatters. He opens his mouth and speaks in a voice that you find surprisingly, offputtingly soft, like a family member talking down to a confused child. “Your eyes are very good at staring.”

The corner of your lip twitches. You’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for something to happen, and when someone finally has something to say to you, it’s _that_? This man is a walking contradiction, somehow managing to be unimposing and demanding at the same time. He’s said a grand total of seven meaningless words to you, but you already feel your composure slipping through the cracks. It’s like he knows something about you that even you don’t know.

After another minute or so of deafening silence, he speaks again. “You strike me as someone who sees things that other people don’t.”

When he doesn’t say anything else, you feel like you’re about to snap. Is this how this entire encounter is going to be? Him saying something completely worthless and then staring at you with that exhausted poker face? He feels like he doesn’t belong in this reality. He makes you feel like you don’t belong either. Still, you refuse to say anything. You can be patient. You’ve already waited here for a few hours. What’s a few more?

“Do you know who I am?”

Finally, something you can work with. “No,” you say.

The man stares silently again, and you just want to flip the table in frustration. You’re starting to see what he’s doing here. He isn’t going to tell you anything on his own. He wants you to ask. So you don’t. You simply stare back, matching his silence.

“Do you know who _you_ are?”

You don’t respond. You aren’t sure what the purpose of this question is, if there even is one. Is he trying to give you an existential crisis? Is he trying to unnerve you? He doesn’t need to ask weird questions to do that. All he has to do is sit there and exist. When he opens his mouth to speak again, you don’t expect anything substantial, but he quickly proves you wrong. He can tell you aren’t going to budge at this rate, so he baits you with five simple words.

“My name is Dr. Faust.”

Oh.

As much as you hate to give in to his little game, you can’t resist any more. You finally give him what he’s waiting for. You inquire. “What do you want?”

He smiles, but it’s uncanny, like he doesn’t do it very often. “I want my bioweapon back.”

A frown tugs at your lips. “He doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anybody but himself.”

Dr. Faust continues to smile. “All humans belong to their parents, all animals belong to their breeders, and all bioweapons belong to their engineers. If not for the people who brought us into the world, we would have nothing. We are all someone’s legacy, and we owe them everything for it.”

A scowl finally breaks through your attempt to remain indifferent. “My parents don’t own me.”

“That’s not what it seemed like when your father contacted us.”

You clench your fists. That son of a bitch even told Umbrella he was your father, like he wanted to be credited for fucking you over. He sickens you. “Even with that fucked up logic, what makes you think he belongs to _you_? You aren’t the only one who made him.”

“I was the head of the Nemesis Project. I engineered the NE-alpha parasite genome. I cultured the cells, then the embryos, like a father providing sustenance to his children. I monitored the host Tyrant’s development from beginning to end. I supervised as two were made one, parasite and host, a symbiotic dance of sorts. I was there the moment it first opened its eye to newfound awareness. It possessed an expression of untapped power, a promise of imminent destruction. It listened to my every command without question.”

“That was before. I’d like to see you try to manipulate him now, see you end up like the last guy who tried.”

The smile slowly fades from his face. “Ah, yes. You speak of Richards. We always had our creative differences, him and I, and perhaps that is the reason we worked so well together. But the fact that they put him in charge of dealing with you, and to such utter failure, nonetheless, is insulting. He was on the Project, yes, but it wasn’t _his_. It was _mine_. And he had no right to do anything with it.”

“What makes you think you’ll be any more successful than him?” you spit.

“I won’t be,” Dr. Faust replies. “I don’t desire to be. I do not seek to accomplish the same goals that he did. I have no interest in breeding bioweapons when cloning is already perfectly viable. I have no interest in mating bonds. I have no interest in Tyrant psychology. These research paths are all a waste of my valuable time and resources, knowledge only for the sake of knowledge, and Richards was a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Part of you is relieved that this man doesn’t plan to breed you. A bigger part of you fears whatever he might have in mind instead. “Then what are you trying to accomplish?”

Dr. Faust’s eyes darken, and you suddenly feel like you just asked something you don’t want to know the answer to. “I told you,” he says, slowly, enunciated. “I want my bioweapon back.”

You stare at him, unnerved by his sudden shift in composure. He isn’t like Dr. Richards in the slightest. He doesn’t care to mock you. He doesn’t try to hide his emotions behind forced stoicism. He doesn’t speak in harsh, stern commands. He doesn’t impose himself on everything around him. He is unpredictable, unnatural, unnoticeable, inhuman in the most subtle ways, like the ghost of a man that you can only ever truly capture in the corners of old photographs. If you were to lunge at him right now, you wouldn’t be surprised if you just phased through him.

“When I learned of my colleague’s failure, of what had become of all my hard work, I grew determined to take back what was rightfully mine. You have been hiding outside of my reach these last six months, but I have not been wasting my time. No, I have continued to research, to experiment, to grow. You have forced me to extremes I could have never anticipated. But it all paid off in the end. I’ve learned that even though the brain seems like such a complex thing, it is really quite simple, nothing more than a computer made of flesh and blood. Once you know how it works, once you know which inputs give you which outputs, you can manipulate its electrical signals in any way you please. Program it, if you will.”

You narrow your eyes. “What are you talking about?”

Dr. Faust smiles again, but it feels more natural this time, not that that makes it any better. “I am talking about emotions, free will, the sense of self, human shortcomings that are all unnecessary burdens to the true purpose of a bioweapon. You have already seen some of the progress I’ve made to correct this inconvenience, how I can manipulate the physical capability of the Nemesis with nothing more than a device lodged into the parasite at the base of the skull. I would like to show you what else I have discovered I can manipulate, how I can block out all of this human nonsense, how I can reduce the mind to nothing more than the primal aggression and unquestioning submission necessary for a bioweapon to function. I would like to show you what the Nemesis truly is, what it was truly meant to be.” The scientist leans forward, the menacing posture contrasting starkly with his soft-spoken nature. “You have not been brought here for research purposes. You are nothing more than a thief to me, and the sole purpose that you have been brought here for is to give me the satisfaction of watching you die at the hands of the very bioweapon you love so foolishly.”

You open your mouth, but you aren’t sure what to say. Scenes from your nightmares flash through your eyes, scenes of Nemesis losing himself, breaking. Dr. Faust must see the deep-set fear in your complexion, because he stands from the chair with a newfound air of control.

As he turns away from you, you finally find your words. “You’ll never be able to break him like that,” you hiss, but your voice cracks, betraying how unsettled you are.

You can’t see Dr. Faust’s face as he walks toward the door. He cocks his head slightly, his hand pausing just above the door handle. You can hear the smile in his voice as he delivers his parting words to you.

“We’ll see about that.”

You stare as he exits the room, leaving you alone once again. The air feels so thick that you think you’re going to drown in it. He’s obviously bluffing. He’s trying to scare you into submission, to gradually wear you down until they can easily do whatever it is that they actually want to do to you with no resistance. Your nightmares are just that: nightmares. Fear-driven delusions. You _know_ Nemesis would never forget you. You _know_ Nemesis would never hurt you. You _know_ Nemesis would never kill you.

So why are you shaking?

You lay your head down on the table and take a deep breath. You feel so helpless, and you hate it with every fiber of your being. Even if you were to escape this room somehow, what good would it do? You can’t throw a punch. You don’t have any weapons, and even if you managed to find one, you doubt you’d know how to use it. You can’t break down doors. You can’t hack computers. You can’t even lie for shit. Your only real strength is your inhuman ability to keep your composure even when there are people being torn to bloody shreds right in front of you, which happens surprisingly frequently. Come to think of it, you really aren’t sure how you survived this long in the first place.

Time passes. A lot of time passes. It feels like purgatory. If Dr. Faust really does want to kill you, he sure is taking his sweet time with it. You sit with your head resting in your arms, silent, unmoving, thinking. Once they find out that Jenna’s just some undergraduate with no information that is useful to them, they’ll probably have her killed or shipped off somewhere for human experimentation. It’s definitely after seven thirty at this point, so Steve is probably hysterical. Your mother is probably crying in some motel room, praying for your safety, hiding from your father while he gloats at home. Jill is probably trying to find you, but you doubt she will. It’s not like you gave her any leads as to where you were going. Nemesis is probably screaming again, or maybe not if that device on his neck is still administering debilitating pain through his brainstem.

Everyone you get close to just ends up getting hurt in the end. Mikhail and Tyrell even _died_ because of their involvement with you. Steve was right about you. You couldn’t hurt someone directly even if you tried, but you might just be the most dangerous person you know. Carlos was smart to fuck off.

It’s been a long time. It’s so quiet. Maybe they’re just going to leave you in here to starve. You wonder if they’ll watch the whole process through the glass. Watching someone starve to death sounds like watching paint dry. You can’t imagine it would be all that satisfying, even to the sadists that Umbrella manages to find.

Suddenly, the fluorescent light on the ceiling shuts off, covering you in a blanket of darkness. You freeze. You wait for something to happen, but the silence remains. Many minutes pass. You begin to wonder if maybe the light shutting off was just a mistake or a malfunction.

_THUD!_

You flinch at the sound of something slamming against the glass pane. Your head swivels in the direction of the sound even though you still can’t see anything. You listen for any more sounds, but everything has gone silent again. Just when you think you’re just hearing things, the door to the room bursts open. Red emergency lights from outside shine in behind the silhouette of a man in the doorway. He has a gun. You brace yourself to get shot.

“You (y/n)?”

You can’t seem to find your words, so you simply nod your head.

The man marches toward you with a hand outstretched. “Chris Redfield, Private Anti-Biohazard Service. Jill told me all about you.”

You take his hand and shake it with your mouth hanging slightly agape, dumbfounded. “I… you… what?”

Chris ignores you, pulling out his radio. “Redfield here. I’ve located (y/n), unharmed. I’m bringing her with me to the extraction point. Over and out.” He returns the radio to its place and turns back to you. “Come on, we need to get you out of here.” He lightly tugs on your arm, and you stand from your seat, your brain too overwhelmed to ask questions. It feels weird to be on your feet again after hours of sitting, but Chris doesn’t give you any time to recover. He strides back out of the room, and you make haste to stay close behind him. A couple bodies lay on the floor in the room on the other side of the glass. You aren’t sure if they’re unconscious or dead, but you don’t really care at this point. You don’t have much time to figure it out anyway, because Chris continues out into the hallway.

Everything is lit by red emergency lights. Gunshots and shouts echo from neighboring hallways and rooms. You trip over a chair that has been tossed out of an office, not seeing it beforehand due to the dim lighting. “Why’s the power out?” you mutter.

“We took out the lights before moving in,” Chris replies. “Cut the security feeds. Online communication should be down, too. I’ve got some men extracting data from the systems. Now we’re trying to track down the B.O.W. and that friend of yours.”

Your mind races as you try to comprehend everything he is telling you. “How many of you are there?”

“Enough to handle a facility this size,” Chris replies as you follow him around a corner. “You’re lucky they brought you here instead of one of their major R&D labs. Breaking you out of one of those would have been a real pain in the ass.” He chuckles. “You must be a big deal to warrant all this. I can’t say I’ve ever had to rescue a B.O.W. before.”

“This B.O.W.’s different,” you say curtly.

“That’s what Jill tells me. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.”

A burst of static interrupts the conversation. “Redfield, come in. This is Park. Over.”

Chris grabs the radio again. “Redfield here. What’s your status? Over.”

“The computers show that the B.O.W. is located in the west wing, testing chamber 1A, but we can’t get the doors open.” Your heart skips a beat. They found Nemesis! He’s okay! “We’re working on overriding the backup security system. Over.”

A thought suddenly occurs to you. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to open that door without me there?” you ask. “All he’s gonna see is a bunch of unidentifiable men with guns, and he already feels threatened. That’s not going to end well for anybody.”

Chris hums thoughtfully before speaking into the radio. “Change of plans. I’m coming to you with (y/n). She says the B.O.W. will be hostile to unknown individuals. Can you get away from the door and break through security remotely? Over.”

“We’re already working from an annex room. I’ll tell everyone by the door to clear out. Over.”

“Good. We’re on our way. Over and out.” He turns to you as he strides toward a different hallway. “Come on, the west wing is this way.”

The two of you practically sprint through the facility, passing other P.A.B.S. operatives and random Umbrella researchers running in every direction. This is so much more chaotic than your previous Umbrella encounter, and you can hardly even see anything. Yet everything is going so much more smoothly than you ever could have imagined. They’ve found you, they’ve found Nemesis, they’re looking for Jenna, they’re accessing Umbrella’s data. If you’re lucky, you might just get out of this physically unscathed.

“(Y/n!)”

You skid to a halt and look around wildly, and your eyes fall on two individuals sprinting down the opposite hall. One of them is an Umbrella guard, and the other is Jenna. She is being dragged against her will, and the guard quickly throws a hand over her mouth to stop her from yelling again.

“Jenna!” you shout back, and Chris stops and turns around as well just in time to see the two individuals disappear around a corner.

“That was Stewart?” he inquires.

“Yes! Go help her! I'll catch up!” You turn to head in your original direction.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Chris yells.

“To get Nemesis!”

“It’s not going anywhere with that door closed,” he argues, and you internally cringe at the dehumanizing pronouns. “Stewart is the priority now. Come on.”

You don’t have time to argue about this. Jenna is getting farther away by the second. “Just go after her! I’ll be fine!” With that, you take off down the hall, barely dodging his hand reaching out to grab you.

“(Y/n)!” Chris yells after you, but he doesn’t follow. He simply mutters to himself and turns to follow Jenna instead.

You ignore the burning in your legs as you sprint down the hall, your single goal drowning out the pain. You have to get to Nemesis. You have to get to him before Faust does. Jenna will be fine with Chris on her tail, at least if he’s anywhere near as competent as Jill says he is. Jenna doesn’t need you right now. But Nemesis does, and you won’t let yourself fail him again.

You turn the corner and stop at a huge industrial door labelled “1A”. There’s a red light beside the door alongside a display screen and a number pad. You approach the display to examine it.

> _WARNING: Primary Security Disabled_
> 
> _Backup Security Enabled_
> 
> _Please enter credentials._

You hit the wall with frustration. The P.A.B.S. hasn’t disabled the backup security yet, and now you’re stuck outside this door like a sitting duck. Maybe you should have stuck with Chris after all. No matter though. You might as well make the most of your time. You look down at the number pad and try to think of what credentials the system might be looking for. An employee number? A random passcode? You start hitting numbers just to see what happens.

_1 2 3 4 5 6_

A new message flashes on the screen before you can hit any more buttons. The code must be six digits, then.

> _Incorrect credentials entered._
> 
> _Access denied._
> 
> _Please wait 60 seconds._

You groan. You have to wait a minute between every incorrect attempt? If you’re remembering high school statistics correctly, there should be a million possible combinations for a six-digit code. You don’t have one million minutes to waste! You don’t even have one minute to waste! Once the timer has run down and the screen has returned to normal, you try another code.

_0 0 1 9 9 8_

> _Incorrect credentials entered._
> 
> _Access denied._
> 
> _Please wait 60 seconds._

Another minute passes, and anxiety bubbles within you as you stare helplessly at the screen. It returns to normal, and you try again, this time at complete random.

_0 1 7 3 0 1_

> _Access denied._
> 
> _Three incorrect attempts._
> 
> _Please wait 15 minutes._

“What!?” you shout as you bang your fists against the wall. This is impossible! You’re never going to-

> _WARNING: Primary Security Disabled_
> 
> _WARNING: Backup Security Disabled_
> 
> _Enter 0 0 0 0 0 0 to proceed._
> 
> _If this is an error, please contact #017768_

Your hand shakes as you tap the number pad.

_0 0 0 0 0 0_

> _Access granted._
> 
> _Welcome #NOTFOUND._

The red light turns green, and the metal door slides open. You step over to the doorway and look into the room, and your heart sings with relief. Nemesis is right here, sitting against the wall, completely unharmed.

You could cry right now. “Thank god,” you mutter as you rush toward him, and he quickly turns to face you. You pause, however, when you hear a faint clearing of the throat from the corner beside the door you just came through. You spin on your feet to face its source, and you suddenly feel like crying for an entirely different reason.

“You are very predictable.”

Dr. Faust stares at you with those familiarly unnerving eyes as you try to think of something to say. Before you can do anything at all, he calmly raises his hand and points at you. His next words make your blood go cold.

“This is your target. Kill her.”

You hear shuffling behind you, and you quickly turn to see Nemesis rising to his feet. He’s staring at you with an expression you know all too well from your night terrors. Empty. Mindless.

 _Broken_.

Faust was waiting for you this entire time.

You hold your hands up like you’re trying to calm down a wild animal. You take several nervous steps backward. Nemesis closes the distance you gained with a single stride. You have two options at this point. The first option is to run. The door is still open, and you could turn around and book it right now. You could escape.

You could leave him.

No. There aren’t two options. There’s only one option. You’re going to stay right here. You’re going to stay here, and you’re going to talk him down. And if you fail, well… At least you didn’t leave him in the end. But you won’t fail. You can’t fail.

“Nemesis,” you say as softly as you can manage through your sudden spike of dread. “Nemesis, it’s me, (y/n). You know me.” Another few steps backward. Another single stride forward. A tear slides down your face. “I know you’re still in there somewhere,” you continue, voice trembling. “You don’t have to listen to them. You can fight this.” Another few steps backward, and you stumble slightly this time. Another single stride forward accompanied by a predatory growl. You wonder how long you can keep this up before one of you makes a move. “Nemesis, please,” you say, desperation rising in your voice. “Remember everything we’ve been through together? Remember how happy we were? Remember how much we loved each other? You have to remember! You have to-”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the last six months, it is that pain is relative. You’ve been engulfed in flames that left scars across your body. You’ve endured the cruelest of interrogation and torture. You’ve felt a bullet tear through your flesh. Yet all the physical pain pales in comparison to the emotional pain you've felt. You’ve seen the people you care about restrained and tormented. You’ve watched someone you care about die. You’ve been threatened with sexual assault. You’ve been disowned by family. You’ve been insulted and mocked. You’ve had to watch everyone around you dehumanize and deride the person you love. And you’ve been forced to relive all of it in your repetitive nightmares.

But none of that compares to the pain you feel right now, the pain of watching your most traumatic nightmare unfold in waking reality, the pain of staring into your mate’s uncaring eyes as he lashes out with a single tentacle and impales you without remorse.

You don’t even bother to look down. You know what happened. You know it’s there. You’ve been through this scenario so many times in your dreams that it almost doesn’t faze you at this point. You don’t feel fear or frustration, just a crippling sorrow that spurs you to choke on your tears. You feel your weight being lifted off the ground as the tentacle raises you to eye level. Just like in your nightmare. The final turn in the universe's game of cosmic sadism.

What happens now? You’ll start to lose feeling, start to lose vision, start to go cold. But what happens to Nemesis? Were the last six months worth nothing in the end? He’s right back where he started, an object to be manipulated by others and inevitably discarded when he ceases to be useful. You thought you could make a difference to him, at least a difference that would last. But here you are with nothing to show but blood and tears.

Your arm moves almost automatically, mimicking the nightmare you’ve rehearsed so many times before. You reach out to him and touch your hand to his face with gentleness, reassurance. The feeling of his rough skin on your fingers should comfort you. Instead it only makes you cry harder from shattered memories.

“I still love you,” you whisper, a distant echo of your last words in your dreams.

The darkness starts to move in, but as it does, something happens that you’ve never experienced in your nightmare, something that shakes you to your very core. There is a shift. The look in Nemesis’ eye changes, the deadness instantly replaced by a progression of emotions that you wouldn’t wish upon anybody.

Recognition.

Realization.

Horror.

_He remembers._

And then there is nothing but darkness.

* * *

The pain being administered directly to his central nervous system is so debilitating that Nemesis can’t even move. He simply sits hunched over in the empty room, pointlessly willing his unresponsive hands to reach back and yank the device out of his neck. It takes all his mental power to not descend into madness right now. And to make it all worse, they took you from him. He promised himself he would never let that happen again, but it did anyway.

Now he has no idea where you are. He has no idea what they’re doing to you. If last time is anything to go by, it isn’t anything good. He remembers the sound of your screams, the blood pouring from your wounds, the tears streaming down your face, the fear in your eyes. A newfound pulse of fury rages through him, and he is overwhelmed by the blinding need to rip apart everything standing between him and you. But it still isn’t enough to break through the hold of the device sending pulses of agony into his brain.

He is unable to move his head, but his eye darts up from the ground when he hears the metal door opening. A man steps in, and Nemesis feels a flash of recognition. Scenes of the operating room fill his mind. The sudden feeling of power, of bloodthirst, of _life_. The fear in the eyes of everyone in the room at the monster they had just brought into existence.

Everyone except one man. This man. The one they called ‘Faust’.

Faust punches a code into a number pad, and the door closes behind him. He then turns and strides over to Nemesis with the confidence of someone who knows more than he should. He comes to a halt in front of Nemesis, staring down into his eye.

“Welcome home.”

The voice of the scientist is familiar. It is the voice that issued the order to hunt down S.T.A.R.S. Before that, it was the voice that instructed the other researchers to inflict damage on his body in order to study his healing properties. It is soft, but not in the same way your voice is soft. Your voice is a sweet, loving, comforting kind of soft. His voice is an unnerving kind of soft, lacking any sense of urgency, unfittingly ethereal.

“I’ve read Richards’ reports,” Faust continues. “I must say, prototype or not, I expected more from you. All it took to distract you from your mission was one sexually-confused female and her offering to mate.”

Nemesis would growl if only he could find his voice through the paralyzing pain. Faust may have expected something _different_ , but it certainly wasn’t something _more_. What would Nemesis have accomplished under Umbrella’s control? Killing targets, and that’s it. He’s accomplished so much more under his own control, and he still managed to kill quite a few worthless prey along the way.

Faust begins to pace around Nemesis’ unmoving body. “Clearly there is a flaw in your design. You were not made to think. You were not made to feel. You were made to follow orders, to kill, and that is that. Yet here you are thinking, feeling, defying orders. I expected the parasite to make you less human, not more.”

As Faust continues his circuit, he disappears from Nemesis’ peripheral vision. Nemesis listens as the footsteps of the man’s dress shoes come to a halt behind him. Not being able to see the man makes his voice all the more uncomfortable to listen to.

“You don’t need to worry about these human trivialities anymore. Your design was meant to be my magnum opus. I am obligated to correct my errors. I am here to eliminate your weaknesses and reignite your destructive potential.”

Nemesis tenses more than he already is as he feels the doctor’s cold hands on his neck. He is so used to the warmth of your touch, he can hardly believe any living human could feel so frigid. The device in the back of his neck whirs slightly, like something is being adjusted.

“We will start with a simple task,” Faust says as he works unseen. “I will bring your mate to you. And you will kill her.”

Faust pauses when Nemesis’ body shifts slightly, a deep growl resonating in his throat. Nemesis latches onto the feeling coursing through his body, the feeling that has finally put him on the brink of regaining his mobility. He will not kill you. It doesn’t matter what the device in the back of his head does. He won’t. He refuses. He will fight back with everything that he has. He will fight until it kills him, if that’s what it takes. He will-

“So defiant. That’s enough of that.”

The pain is so blinding that Nemesis’ mind goes blank. All he knows is that he was thinking about something important. He can’t forget what it was. What was he thinking about?

Wait, he was thinking? Thinking…

…Why? He isn’t made to think.

And so he doesn’t.

* * *

“I still love you.”

Suddenly, amidst the nothingness, there is a thought. A single thought. The awareness of a single tactile sensation. The human female – his target to eliminate – is touching his cheek, and it shouldn’t mean anything. But… Why does this feel so familiar? Why does this… hurt? Why does this hurt _so much_? His target’s soft voice rattles around in his head, and he feels like he’s heard it before. Suddenly, long-forgotten words start to flash through his mind.

_“Uh, my name is (y/n). Do you have a name?”_

_“Holy shit, you saved my life.”_

_“You don’t have to kill anybody. You can make that choice. Just like you chose not to kill me.”_

_“What are we?”_

_“You’re hurting him! Please, stop!”_

_“I missed you.”_

_“If escaping means losing him then I’d rather die!”_

_“You’re not a weapon, you’re not an experiment, you’re not a mindless killer. You're so much more than that. You’re so human.”_

_“I promise I’ll come back… because I love you.”_

Recognition.

_“I don’t see a monster when I look at you, I see my mate. Please don't be afraid of hurting me. I trust you. I know that you'll never hurt me.”_

Realization.

_“I helped make you, and I can assure you that this female will never fulfill you. Someday you will hurt her. You will hurt her, and maybe then you’ll once again come to terms with the purpose you were made for.”_

Horror.

Before Nemesis can even think to do anything, he sees the life drain from your eyes. He feels your hand fall from his face. The tentacle retracts from your torso without any conscious effort, and his hands reach out to catch your body as it falls. He holds you to his chest, hoping that he’ll feel your breaths, feel your pulse. But there is nothing but stillness in his arms. He staggers a few steps back.

No... He didn't... He wouldn't...

“That’s more like it.” The words roll off Faust’s tongue like a snake spitting venom. “You can put down that corpse, we don’t need it. Now, this facility will be compromised without immediate action. Your next order is to-“

Faust pauses as Nemesis shifts your body into one arm, reaching behind himself with the other. Without even flinching, he grips the device in the back of his neck and yanks. He can feel the parasite lurch as the metal probes are ripped from its carapace. A mixture of blood and hemolymph drips down his neck and back as he tears the device out the rest of the way. He doesn’t care about the pain. He simply crushes the device in his fist.

Faust books it out of the room faster than should be humanly possible.

Nemesis doesn’t go after him. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right now is the body of his mate held in his arms. He falls down to his knees, clutches onto you for dear life, and throws his head back to bellow out an earth-shaking cry of sheer grief. Tears fall from his single eye as he moves to hover over you protectively. The strength in his arms falters until he can’t support you anymore, and you fall softly to the concrete floor. Seeing you laying there like that with your eyes closed, unmoving… You might as well just be sleeping. You would look peaceful if not for the hole in your torso and the tears covering your face.

His hands move up to claw at his own head in agonizing lamentation. He should have fought harder. He should have fought harder. He should have fought harder. This is his fault. His fault. He hurt you. You’re gone. His fault. It hurts. It hurts so much. Gone. Dead. Dead dead dead dead dead dead dead dead-

Nemesis looks to the side at the sound of footsteps outside the door. There is an Umbrella guard passing by outside. He pauses to look into the room, but upon seeing nothing more than a B.O.W. and the corpse of an insignificant civilian, he continues down the hall.

And suddenly, the only thing Nemesis wants to do is _kill everything that moves_.

Nemesis rises to his feet, visibly shaking. Forcing himself to leave your lifeless body behind, he strides out of the room. He can see the guard just a few yards down the hall. A tentacle lashes out, striking through the man’s head. The body falls to the floor, blood spilling into a growing puddle.

It isn’t satisfying. It isn’t enough.

Everything is a blur after that. A blur of screams and blood and bodies. He tears through the facility almost methodically, determined not to stop until every living thing in this place is dead. But with each Umbrella employee he kills, with each body that is torn apart in his grasp, with every drop of blood that he spills, it still isn’t _enough_.

_It isn’t enough to bring you back._

When the blur of bloodlust finally begins to subside, Nemesis finds himself in an office. He quickly dispatches the three researchers who were making a futile effort to hide beneath the computer desks. He doesn’t know how many people he’s killed now.

 ~~Too many.~~ Not enough.

He wills his body to turn around and exit the now-empty office, to continue his purge of the living, but something in him is missing, broken. His knees just give out and send him crumpling onto the floor, and he makes a sound he’s never made before, something akin to a wail. It isn’t enough.

It will never be enough.


	18. To the Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Netflix: *announces RE series*  
> Me: *reads synopsis* My disappointment is immeasurable, and my day is ruined. I don’t know what else I expected.
> 
> Posting this in the morning instead of at night because I’m going to a party later and have no idea how late I’ll be out.
> 
> This chapter ended up being way longer than I anticipated at over 7k words. Leave it to me to get carried away with the science reports. I hope you like overly-technical headcanons!
> 
> I didn’t even include everything I wanted to include in this chapter. I was originally going to just cram what I didn’t have room for into the beginning of the next chapter, but I feel like the pacing would just go bonkers at that point. So I’m probably going to up the chapter total from 20 to 21 within the next week.

_Ḏ͔̤̇̓͠À͓̹̮̘̕̚̕Ţ̉E ̡͓͔̑͗͐N̥̹͉̂͌̄Ő̲͙̩̀̔T̤̺̙̲͓͐̅͑̈̂ ̥̾F̧̫̜͕̽̓̕͘O̹̳͔̙͛̾̆̽U̘͉͋̄N̜̗̒͂Ḍ̨͖̳̈́̏̕͡_

Some people believe there is a heaven. Some people believe there is a hell. Some people believe there is a purgatory. Other people believe in reincarnation. Yet others believe in ghosts and wandering spirits. Some people believe there is nothing at all. It would seem, at least at first, that the last group was the right one.

You never spent much time thinking about where you might go when you die. It never seemed important. But now that you finally find yourself thinking about it, you suppose nothingness is the most sensible option. Darkness. Numbness. Silence. Stillness. In a way, it is the most restful sleep there can be. There are no more dreams, but there are also no more nightmares. A final respite from the suffering that plagues life. Eternal peace.

Yes, that sounds… nice.

Really… nice…

But if there is peace to be found in death…

Then why is there suddenly so much _unbearable pain_?

* * *

_Wednesday, March 10, 1999_

_Need… to… breathe…!_

Your lungs gasp for air as your eyes shoot open, and you immediately become aware of the crippling, excruciating pain. It feels like every nerve in your entire body is firing at full capacity. It feels like someone injected molten iron into you veins, and now it is flowing through every little capillary, every microscopic cell.

You suddenly have the urge to hurl. You push through the burning agony to roll over onto your stomach and force yourself up onto your hands and knees, and you immediately wretch so hard that you think your stomach is going to invert itself. You cough and gag up a seemingly endless stream of blood from your stomach and lungs, adding to the expanse of scarlet liquid you were laying in just seconds ago. Some of the blood has already coagulated.

You stare down at your hands with tears in your eyes. This is hell. It has to be. You must have committed some unforgiveable sin in life, and this is your eternal punishment, wallowing in an impossible amount of your own blood while every atom of your body is subjected to unrelenting pain. You always pictured hell as some cavernous place where you would literally be swimming in flames. You aren’t sure if this is better or worse.

You crane your neck to examine your surroundings. You’re in a large room with no windows or furniture, just one big open door that leads out into a red-lit hallway. It’s dark and cold. The floor is hard, concrete. This is…

This is where you died. This must be some twisted version of reality, a projection of your final moments. This can’t be the real world. You can’t be alive. That isn’t possible. You were impaled. All this blood surrounding you is your own. You couldn’t have lost this much blood and lived. You couldn’t have-

Wait.

Your hands.

You stare back down at your hands. They are just as unassuming as they were a few seconds ago. Average in every way. Ten fingers.

You should only have nine fingers.

A hand rushes up to your torso. Where you expect to find a hole in your body, all you find is a hole in your shirt. Your skin is smooth, unmarked, as if nothing ever happened.

This can’t be the real world anymore.

“Oh fuck!”

You jump at the sound of a voice, and you quickly turn your head to see a man standing defensively in the doorway. In your pain-induced disorientation, you don’t register the tactical gear or the assault rifle. All you register is that there is another person in this hellscape, another person that might be able to help you. You push yourself to your feet, slipping slightly in your blood. “Please, can you help-“

_BANG!_

You stare at the man now pointing his gun at you, and he stares back. A warning shot. You moved too fast. He doesn’t trust you. Fair enough. You open your mouth to say something else, to try to explain yourself, but you pause at the feeling of something warm trickling down the bridge of your nose. You raise your hand to touch it and realize with horror that it is blood. You inch your hand a little higher, and you can feel solid bone through a wound in your forehead. You look down and see the glimmer of a warped bullet at your feet.

It wasn’t a warning shot. He shot you. He shot you in the head. And it didn’t kill you. It didn’t even go all the way through.

This is hell. This is hell. Everything hurts, and you can’t die, and this is without a doubt hell.

You look back up at the man, who now looks mortified. Your eyes are drawn to the little logo of a red and white octagon on his uniform, and memories flood back to you. Umbrella. You’re here, wherever here is, because of Umbrella. You’re dead because of Umbrella. They made Nemesis kill you.

The man begins to back away.

Oh no. No way. Fuck that.

Before you know what you’re even doing, you rush him. He looks completely caught off guard by your sudden burst of energy as your hands reach for his neck. You hear the gun discharge a few times, but you’re already in so much all-encompassing pain that you can’t tell if any of the bullets even hit you. You let out a yell of anguish. _This is all Umbrella’s fault! You’re stuck in this hell because of THEM!_

_CRACK!_

You feel the man go lax in your hands. You release him and stagger backward, watching as he falls dead to the floor. You snapped his neck. For the first time in your life, or perhaps death, you just killed a man.

You don’t stop to think about how much he deserved it. You don’t stop to think about how much you want to vomit again. You don’t stop to think about how satisfying it was to feel that snap beneath your fingers. You don’t stop to think about how this obviously isn’t hell because you certainly can’t kill someone who is already dead. All you do is run.

As you sprint through the dark hallways, your feet splash through puddles of blood and squish through piles of guts. There are dead bodies everywhere, or at least what used to be dead bodies before something ripped them limb from limb and left the pieces strewn throughout every hallway. Not a single corpse is in one piece. There must be hundreds of them. You trip over an arm, or maybe a leg. You can’t tell in the dim red lighting.

You keep running, your stamina unyielding. Didn’t you see that chunk of ribcage before? And that head definitely looks familiar. Are you just going in circles? Why aren’t you getting tired? Is this just going to go on forever? God, this really is hell, isn’t it? Your own personal hell. Maybe that Umbrella guard was a test, nothing more than an apparition. Maybe if you had spared him, you would have been granted an exit from this carnage. But no, you killed him, and now you’ve sealed your fate and doomed your soul to roam these halls forever.

You finally stop running. There’s nothing to run from, and you aren’t getting anywhere, so you don’t know why you should keep bothering. You lean against the wall and slide to the floor where you won’t end up sitting in a puddle of blood. The fire in your body has dulled slightly, and you find yourself managing to think clearly again. All the events that led to this fill your mind all at once, and you bring your hands to your face in overwhelmed sorrow. You can only hope that Chris got Jenna to safety. You can only hope that the information they stole from the computers will help save more lives.

You feel like crying when your mind drifts to the last thing you saw before the nothingness. You’ll never forget that look in Nemesis’ eye, that look of horror and soul-consuming grief. Nemesis knows that he killed you. What would something like that even drive him to do? How does a bioweapon grieve? You can’t even begin to imagine what he is going through right now, the blood of his mate on his own hands. He’ll blame himself. Maybe even take it out on himself somehow. You wish you could be there to comfort him, to reassure him that it wasn’t really his fault.

At least, in the end, you assured him that you still love him.

You wonder what happened after you faded from that mortal world. Hopefully Nemesis ripped out that wretched thing in his neck. Hopefully he killed the man responsible for his lapse in control. But then what? What is he doing right now? Where can he go now that you’re gone? Will the P.A.B.S. take him? Will they protect him? Will they use him? Will they dispose of him? You know they won’t treat him like you did. They don’t see him as human in any sense of the word. They’ll treat him like the monster he was made to be.

Will he even care?

God, you would give anything just to hold him again.

You are suddenly aware of the tears. With your mind occupied in this manner, you knew they would come eventually. You wipe them away, trying your best not to think about how alone you are right now, how alone he must be right now. You aren’t accomplishing anything just sitting here in your sorrow. Of course, you weren’t accomplishing anything running around in circles either. Perhaps it is time for a new approach. Hallways are pointless without rooms to connect, and you might be able to find something interesting if you explore those rooms. You get to your feet and begin to traipse forward again.

You lean into one of the rooms. It’s a server room. You enter and roam through the maze of machines, but there is nothing of interest, so you leave. The next room is an office of sorts, a few computers still turned on, screensavers flickering. You walk between the desks, but again, there is nothing. You stop at one of the computers and jostle the mouse, only to be met by a blank desktop. You don’t have a lot of experience with computers, but you took a class a while back at the Raccoon City library just to see what all the fuss was about. You know enough to deduce that there aren’t any programs, not even an internet browser. The folders are all empty too. It looks like someone wiped the main directory without bothering to wipe the operating system. The other two computers you check are the same, so you decide it isn’t worth wasting your time with the rest.

You move on to another room, a filing room of sorts. There are finally some more dead bodies in this one. You open one of the drawers. It’s full of financial documents, not that you expected anything interesting anyway. Another drawer yields employee records. Maybe these would be useful for figuring out who all these bodies used to be. But they aren’t of any use to you.

You enter another room that doesn’t look promising. It’s another office, but tailored to a single occupant, likely an administrator or something. There’s another computer on the desk, and you figure you can give it a shot. You wiggle the mouse, and sure enough, the screen flickers to life. Only this time, instead of a desktop, you are met with an unfamiliar operating system and a request for credentials. You decide to type something in for the hell of it, no pun intended.

_0 0 0 0 0 0_

The screen shows an error. You figured that wouldn’t work anyway. You try to think of another number, and one immediately jumps to the forefront of your mind. You aren’t sure where you saw it or why you bothered to remember it, but it’s burned into your brain anyway, so you type it in.

_0 1 7 7 6 8_

To your surprise, you are met with a coherent message rather than an error.

> _Hello, Dr. Daniel W. Faust._

“Oh my god,” you mutter as the message disappears and is replaced by the desktop. You can’t believe that worked. This might be the first thing that has gone right since you died. You fumble around with the UI to open the search function, then search the main directory for the only key word you are remotely interested in.

_“Nemesis”._

You are met with a barrage of files, and all the directory paths appear to lead back to a single folder labelled “NEProject”. Most of the files don’t seem very interesting, comprising spreadsheets of raw data, haphazard notes that lack context, genetic sequences, schematics that are too advanced for you to understand, diagrams of unidentifiable biology. It’s incredibly well organized, but it still seems like nonsense to you. Still, you are determined to skim through everything, just in case there is something of significance that you are capable of interpreting. You set the list to display in order of date accessed.

You hover the cursor over the most recently accessed file, labeled “Oct1998_PSRrep.rtf”. October of 1998, a month you remember all too well. You click to open the file, and it appears to be a written report of some kind.

> **_09-30-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _Subject claims to have been a resident of Raccoon City and self-employed antiques dealer. Subject will be treated for multiple second-degree burns, nasal fracture, and minor concussion._
> 
> _Subject did not appear to have prior knowledge of the Nemesis Project but became agitated by Umbrella Corporation’s involvement. Subject was thereafter reluctant to provide requested information without negative reinforcement. Recommending denailing as an effective procedure for future interactions._
> 
> _Copulation occurred twice on 09-28-1998 and 09-29-1998. Subject claims to be on contraceptives but otherwise fertile. Recommending regular blood tests to monitor estrogen levels and estimate future ovulation dates._
> 
> **_09-30-1998 Audio Log Transcription_ **
> 
> _Subject claims to have copulated with the Nemesis. We thought we had rectified the tendency to develop a sense of self from the T-103 model, but perhaps the parasite has introduced some unknown variable. I would postulate that the subject's food offering was interpreted as a nuptial gift [see addendum], triggering an instinctual mating response. The Nemesis thus formed something similar to the pair bond formed between many mated animals, and this bond was enough to cause an override of the Nemesis’ primary directive to hunt S.T.A.R.S. officers._
> 
> _Subject's behavior suggests an emotional attachment to the Nemesis. While there may be an evolutionary basis for the Nemesis bonding with a potential mate, I fail to understand why an otherwise sane human female would reciprocate this mating bond. This phenomenon definitely warrants further study._
> 
> _We will begin immediate development of procedures to test the effects of sexual and emotional bonding on the Nemesis, including potential bonds formed with offspring. Emphasis will be placed on determining how we can prevent this behavior from recurring in future prototypes, or how to purposefully induce certain behaviors to our advantage. Positive results may warrant further study on ways to breed new Tyrants rather than allocating so many resources to cloning and growing them._
> 
> **_09-30-1998 Addendum_ **
> 
> _Nuptial gifting behavior is almost exclusively displayed by males to attract females in various species of the phylum Arthropoda. Although the NE-α parasite is functionally sexless and thus should lack courtship behaviors, the instinct may be a remnant of genetic code borrowed from related arthropods. Requesting access to Dr. D.W. Faust’s genome sequences for further analysis._
> 
> **_10-01-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _Blood sample taken from subject. Four semen samples taken from uterus. Results pending._
> 
> _Subject refuses to eat. Recommending feeding by force if subject does not eat within next 24 hours._
> 
> _Subject exhibits severe insomnia and wakes up screaming or crying multiple times per sleep cycle. May require medication if sleep deprivation begins to affect vitals. Looking into getting psychologists on the project, especially with expertise in sexual deviancy._
> 
> **_10-02-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _10-01-1998 blood test indicates no trace of T-virus infection._
> 
> _First test on semen sample returned inconclusive. Sending second sample for testing._
> 
> _Subject still refuses to eat. Beginning force feeding regimen tomorrow._
> 
> **_10-03-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _Second test on semen sample returned inconclusive. Sending third sample for testing using altered protocol._
> 
> _Subject began voluntarily eating after second session of force feeding._
> 
> _REMINDER to message Laura: Tell Faust to hurry the fuck up and get back to me about that NE-α genome. My great grandmother with polio was faster than him._
> 
> **_10-04-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _Third test on semen sample returned with contaminated control. Sending final sample for testing using altered protocol._
> 
> _REMINDER to message Laura: What do you mean Faust said I can’t have the genomic data? I’ve worked my ass off on this! I’m the one who writes all the proposals because he can’t be arsed with “trivial grunt work”! This is my project just as much as it is his, if not more. You’d think I’m asking him to give me his firstborn or some shit. He can go fuck himself._
> 
> _Also, I want the intern who contaminated that control fired. If this last sample doesn’t yield usable results, someone’s going to have to jerk off the Tyrant, and I really don’t want to deal with whatever mess results from that._
> 
> **_10-05-1998 Notes_ **
> 
> _Fourth test on semen sample returned with conclusive results (thank god). 99% likelihood of compatibility. Monitored copulation sessions will begin immediately upon onset of ovulation. Looks like the hassle was worth it in the end._
> 
> _Benjamin suggested we should have a competition in the lab to name the progeny. Not really my thing, but it could boost workplace morale._
> 
> _REMINDER to message Laura: I’m keeping an eye on Hualing. She does good work, but I might have her transferred to a different project for the sake of her mental health. She was extremely distressed by the test results, expressed excessive concern for the subject, etc. I presume it’s because she just got off maternity leave. She’s thinking like a mother, you know? Just wanted to make you aware that you might be doing some paperwork for her soon._
> 
> **_10-06-1998 Experiment Log – Effect of negative stimuli related to mating bond on mutation capacity_ **
> 
> _Recording from medical wing, recovering from injury sustained during testing._
> 
> _Nemesis T-type exhibited strong emotional and physical reaction in response to mated subject’s vocal distress, resulting in an overloading of the power limiter that allowed the Nemesis T-type to break through previously effective restraints. Nemesis T-type entered a rage state, killing sixteen (16) armed guards and eight (8) researchers while sustaining no permanent damage. Readings estimate a 47% average increase in mutation capacity prior to the power limiter’s failure, peaking at 121% for 1.36 seconds. Nemesis T-type scaled 4.5 meter wall to reach researchers in annex observation room._
> 
> _Surveillance footage shows that Nemesis T-type vocalized name of subject. Recommending future study on capacity for two-way communication._
> 
> _Recommending testing focus be shifted from the effect of negative stimuli to interactions with the mated subject in preparation for attempted impregnation. Nemesis T-type should be monitored via camera feed in the future, as windows have proven unsafe._
> 
> _Nemesis T-type and subject currently loose in facility. Number of additional casualties unknown at this time but estimated to be upwards of fifty (50)._
> 
> _Requesting access to three (3) or more Tyrant T-103 specimens to regain control of Nemesis T-type and subject. Nemesis T-type and subject will receive severe negative reinforcement to discourage future violent behavior._
> 
> _REMINDER to message Laura: Faust is a menace to this corporation if he thought releasing a volatile prototype like this into the field was a good idea. There was no way any of us could have anticipated this behavior with the redacted data he gave us. Maybe this mess wouldn’t have happened if he’d just released the damn files. Asshole owes me an arm._
> 
> **_10-09-1998 Follow-Up Added by Curator_ **
> 
> _Dr. Paul S. Richards was released from the medical wing, and his request for three (3) Tyrant T-103 specimens was granted. Surveillance data and any potential remains were lost in the fire resulting from the Nemesis T-type and subject’s successful escape with two (2) unidentified prisoners. Dr. Richards is accordingly presumed dead. Search efforts for the Nemesis T-type and subject are currently postponed until better containment protocols are devised. Forwarding project data to Dr. Daniel W. Faust as per administrative orders (I honestly don’t know why they didn’t just do that in the first place. And I’m not just saying that because he promoted me to curator.)._
> 
> _Oh, and can someone please get Mr. Ginovaef his money already? He won’t stop contacting Laura._
> 
> _-Dr. Cynthia E. Cheryl, Nemesis Project Curator_

You stare at the screen with a blank expression. There is a lot to take in here. For one thing, it is evident that there was some tension between Faust and Richards, no matter what Faust said about the two of them ‘working well together’. But more importantly, Richards really was going to go through with his research. He really was going to attempt to breed you. You and Nemesis are-

No, _were_. You and Nemesis _were_ compatible. Now you’re just… dead. Still, this new knowledge haunts you. The thought of having a child was uncomfortable once. But after that night that Nemesis got drunk, and especially after that conversation with your mother, it didn’t seem so… scary? Is that the word for it? You aren’t sure. All you know is that you really wouldn’t have minded raising a family someday. You might have even wanted it. Especially with… him.

There’s no point thinking about it now, though.

You skim over the next few files. Again, it is nothing but scientific data that is beyond your education level. You decide to just examine the text documents and not waste your time with any of the other extensions. Even then, several of the files are just strings of nucleotides and amino acids. You don’t find another file of interest until you open one labelled “Reacquisition.rtf”.

> _Copy of message sent to Cheryl, Cynthia E. at 12:32 am on 03-10-1999 through secure server:_
> 
> _Dr. Cheryl,_
> 
> _I just received an urgent call from Sinclair. He is fortunate I was still awake when he called, otherwise I may have been less self-restrained in temperament._
> 
> _A civilian number contacted the service line in the early afternoon with claims of having located a stolen bioweapon, claims that would have been quickly dismissed as an attempt at gleaning confessions had he not mentioned the word “Nemesis”. He was quickly transferred through several lines to Sinclair, and what this man had to say was truly remarkable._
> 
> _He provided the exact location of both the Nemesis and the female it has claimed for itself, but to end the story there would be a horrible disservice to this man’s position. He made it known who he is with quite colorful language, that he is the very father of our female subject who is finally reclaiming his authority, like a parent disciplining an unruly child._
> 
> _Imagine my surprise to learn that my bioweapon has been living in a quaint little house with a quaint little wife, eating human food, wearing human clothes, consuming human media in some bizarre parody of domesticity! It disgusts me to see the true purpose of my creation treated with such mockery. The creature has even grown gentle, complacent. Shameful. I must correct this._
> 
> _My design worked exactly as I had intended, the preprogrammed stimulus downing the Nemesis in mere seconds. The team Sinclair sent contained it with ease, and only four men were killed, a very conservative loss. They are currently in transit to the interim lab. I look forward to demonstrating the device’s full range of control very soon._
> 
> _As should be obvious, I no longer require that search of private and public records I previously requested. I have a new request for you instead. While the current schematic is specifically designed to interface with the parasite, similar schematics can surely be designed to interface with additional B.O.W.’s and even humans. Imagine the ease of transport when specimens can simply be cognitively inactivated. Imagine the complete opposite, the potential of the brain being ‘overclocked’. There are so many applications: induced amnesia, psychological torture, commandeering enemy soldiers and B.O.W.’s, and so on. I have attached an addendum to my previous proposal. You already know where to forward it._
> 
> _It is like poetry, I think. Just as one father regains dominion over his daughter, so do I regain dominion over my brainchild. I will see to it that the fruit of my labors will no longer rot, but flourish abundantly._
> 
> _I presume that you are asleep at this hour, but please contact me at your earliest convenience._
> 
> _-Dr. Daniel W. Faust_

You furrow your brow. Reading an account of your father’s involvement almost feels surreal. All those years you spent around him as a child… How would you have changed if you had known he would indirectly kill you someday? How would he have changed? Would anything have changed at all? You shake your head and search for the next meaningful text file in the directory. He doesn’t deserve your mental energy.

After a few more clicks, another interesting file opens, this one labelled “NE-T_log.rtf”.

> **_31-07-1998_ **
> 
> _With the long-awaited creation of this document, I proclaim my glorious success._
> 
> _Finally, after thirteen years of assiduous speculation, of meticulous research, of painstaking experimentation, I have risen above my colleagues and achieved the great success of my career. I remember all the strain on my forbearance all too well. With every rejected vessel, I felt myself falling further and further into torment, trapped in my own ambitions. I had created something so incredible that no mortal organism could even endure it fumbling, let alone dancing in the beauty of perfected biology._
> 
> _Today, my Tyrant arrived at the lab from Sheena, and I immediately began the usual procedure. My parasite attached to the brain with no hesitation, and its secretions were quickly introduced into the host’s system. I must admit, I did not have high hopes. It has been many years since my last attempt to find a suitable vessel. My low expectations prevented me from feeling too disappointed by the body’s initial reaction to the secretions, mainly darkening and tearing of the skin. The face was destroyed beyond repair, the body writhed in its harnesses, and I feared that this host, too, would reject my gift. In retrospect, I am reminded of Matthew 8:26:_
> 
> _“And he saith unto them, Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith? Then he arose, and rebuked the winds and the sea; and there was a great calm.”_
> 
> _And just as the calm came to the storm, a calm came to my Tyrant. Its skin ceased to tear and instead grew rough and resilient. Its muscles ceased to spasm and instead grew to even greater strength. It opened the eye that remained, and I could immediately see something that I had never achieved in any of my previous attempts. There was a certain power in that eye, a certain fury, a certain hunger, but most importantly, a certain life. And in that moment, I knew that I must have greater faith in myself, for if a god is powerless without the faith of lesser mortals, then surely he is powerless without the faith of himself._
> 
> _My creation has remained stable for seven hours as of this writing. No other vessel has lasted longer than several minutes. I will begin testing the creature’s physical properties and intellect in a few days, as I want to ensure that the parasite has time to acclimate._
> 
> _I am not contacting Richards or Sinclair yet. They will want to go out for drinks, and I am too tired to bother objecting. I refuse to celebrate until I have seen the Project through completely. This is not the end, but the beginning._
> 
> **_03-08-1998_ **
> 
> _It has been 72 hours since successful implantation, so I believe it safe to assume that the symbiosis can sustain itself. With that assurance, I will allow myself to begin referring to the resulting creature as the Nemesis T-type, as it is the bond between the Nemesis parasite and the Tyrant._
> 
> _Preliminary testing of physical properties yields remarkable results. While the skin can still be penetrated by sharp objects and small projectiles, the force required to cause damage using these methods is significantly greater than the force required to damage a standard Tyrant. Regenerative properties are not only maintained but accelerated by the parasite’s secretions. The body in general is noticeably larger, having amassed approximately 15 more centimeters in height and approximately 15% greater muscle mass._
> 
> _Results of intelligence testing are promising. The Nemesis possesses an impressive memory, which will surely be useful in tracking targets, familiarizing itself with complex environments, and retaining experience from combat. It appears to be heavily indifferent to humans but follows simple commands without resistance. At first, I feared that this indifference may translate to a lack of aggression. However, when provided with a human test subject and commanded to attack, it did so with utmost voraciousness, damaging the subject’s body far beyond what was necessary to kill the target. If I may allow myself to anthropomorphize, it seemed to take great pleasure in tearing apart the limbs and snapping the bones, like a child playing with a new toy._
> 
> _Most curious was the Nemesis’ use of a previously unseen tentacular appendage to initially dispatch the target. When prompted, the Nemesis was able to produce multiple tentacles at once and control each one with impressive dexterity. These tentacles appear to be able to emerge from any location on the body, but the hands and arms seem to be preferred for a reason that is not apparent. Sampled tissue from these appendages indicates that they are parasitic in origin. The ability to produce these appendages opens up a wide range of new combat possibilities, such as the abilities to deal with many targets simultaneously, immobilize attackers, and cause damage from a longer range._
> 
> _Already it is evident that the Nemesis T-Type will be more formidable in combat than a non-parasitized Tyrant T-103. With its sheer aggression, resilience, and strength, the Nemesis possesses a destructive potential far beyond what any of us could have imagined._
> 
> _Upon the detonation of the first atomic bomb, Julius Robert Oppenheimer quoted the Bhagavad Gita, saying:_
> 
> _"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds."_
> 
> _I, too, have bestowed a new weapon upon mankind. But unlike the bomb, my weapon is intelligent, adaptable, and most importantly, alive._
> 
> _I, too, have become the destroyer of worlds. But clearly, I am not Death. Rather, I am Life._
> 
> **_10-08-1998_ **
> 
> _I have begun testing the Nemesis’ capacity to supplement its combat with weapons. It learned at an incredibly fast rate and could aim with 95% accuracy after less than an hour of practice. Over several sessions it has achieved proficiency in the use of flamethrowers, propulsion weapons such as grenade and rocket launchers, and various models of large firearms._
> 
> _While the Tyrant T-103 is intelligent enough to use weapons when commanded, it does not express interest in using them of its own volition. The Nemesis, on the other hand, actively used provided weapons even when physical combat was a viable option. It seemed to prefer the flamethrower, grenade launcher, and rocket launcher over traditional firearms. I no longer believe myself to be anthropomorphizing when I say the Nemesis seemed to enjoy using the weapons, toying with targets by trapping them between flames or knocking them back with purposefully indirect explosions. Again, like a child with a new toy._
> 
> _Interestingly, the Nemesis is much more prone to vocalization than the standard Tyrant. So far it has produced a wide variety of growls, grumbles, and roars. It is possible that each sound has a unique meaning for communication, further indicating its intelligence._
> 
> **_12-08-1998_ **
> 
> _Cheryl had quite a scare today that has left me quite curious. I had her provide the Nemesis’ food this morning, as I was engrossed in running some data in the observation room just outside the enclosure. I never put much thought into how the food is provided until I heard screams from inside the enclosure. Apparently, the Nemesis had grabbed her. I quickly ran in, and it released her on my command, although it did hesitate, something that I have not seen before now._
> 
> _Upon review of surveillance footage, the only thing I can think of that could have triggered this reaction was Cheryl’s method of delivery. Having grown comfortable around the Nemesis throughout the last week of testing, she attempted to personally hand the food to it. This differs from my own method of delivery, which is to simply leave the food in the enclosure with no personal interaction._
> 
> _This is the first time the Nemesis has expressed interest in a human that is not a target. I can’t help but wonder what would have happened had I not intervened. I do not plan to test this, however, as hesitation to follow orders is not a behavior I want to instigate._
> 
> _I will inform all future assistant handlers that meals should simply be placed in the Nemesis’ enclosure and NOT presented to it directly. Cheryl is no longer permitted in the enclosure in the interest of her personal safety._
> 
> **_20-08-1998_ **
> 
> _Regular blood tests have shown a steady decrease in the essential amino acids histidine, isoleucine, and lysine over the last several weeks. I project that the concentration of these amino acids will cross into deficient range within the next week if action is not taken._
> 
> _These three essential amino acids in particular are important for muscle growth, immune system function, and tissue regeneration. It is possible that the unique biology generated by the T-virus and its interaction with the parasite’s secretions are forcing the body to use these amino acids at a higher rate than would normally be expected of the human body._
> 
> _It was my mistake to base the Nemesis’ diet around a standard human diet. It is not, after all, human in totality. I have adjusted the diet to include mostly meat, which is the most efficient source of the three deficient amino acids. Plant matter will still be included, but only as much as is needed to provide other essential amino acids. I will continue to monitor amino acid levels over the next week to see if the deficiency is corrected by this change._
> 
> **_21-08-1998_ **
> 
> _Out of nothing more than petty curiosity, I provided the Nemesis with a wide range of raw and cooked meats to determine which ones to implement in its revised diet. Within both the raw and cooked groups of meats, the Nemesis greatly preferred beef, pork, mutton, and venison over poultry and fish. Between the two groups, raw meats were always preferred over their cooked counterparts._
> 
> _The only meat that the Nemesis refused to eat was human, both cooked and raw. Considering the voracious hunger for human flesh exhibited by T-virus infected zombies, this was quite unexpected. It is possible that the aversion is a self-preservation instinct, as cannibalism can lead to prion infection that cannot be countered by the immune system. It truly is an intelligent creature._
> 
> _I noticed at the conclusion of the test that the Nemesis was producing a new sound not unlike the purring of a cat. While I am hesitant to attribute this noise to an expression of contentment, it is the most likely explanation at this point in time._
> 
> **_29-08-1998_ **
> 
> _It has now been one week since the implementation of the revised diet, and essential amino acids have returned to normal range. I will consider the new diet a success._
> 
> **_25-09-1998_ **
> 
> _The rioting in Raccoon City only grows worse with each passing day. At least Umbrella is attempting to make some good of this disastrous failure on their part: there is talk of sending in various B.O.W.’s so that we can collect real-world combat data. The Hunter Project and Tyrant Project have already been approved for testing. I’m going to lobby to get the Nemesis Project on that list._
> 
> _I feel as though I have accomplished little over the last month. Testing of the Nemesis’ is undeniably consistent. I now have a firm grasp on its formidability. The only thing left to do is perform field testing, and this is the perfect opportunity. I thirst for progress._
> 
> _I have the backing of both Richards and Sinclair. Now I can only hope that our requests will be heard._
> 
> **_27-09-1998_ **
> 
> _Permission has been granted to send the Nemesis into Raccoon City via aerial transport. The engineers are already building a Tyrant transport crate modified to accommodate the Nemesis’ additional size. It will also require custom combat attire, as the standard Tyrant power limiters are slightly too small. The attire does not have to be carefully engineered, as the specialized power limiter on the chest is sufficient. But the attire should be practical, nonetheless._
> 
> _Umbrella has devised a simple procedure to test the Nemesis’ competence. So simple, in fact, that it is almost insulting to my intelligence. I am to have the Nemesis memorize the faces of former S.T.A.R.S. officers Jill Valentine, Brad Vickers, Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers, and Barry Burton. It is to hunt them down and kill them. How many of these targets remain in Raccoon City, I do not know. But it doesn’t matter. Simply tracking and killing any of the targets will exemplify its capabilities._
> 
> _I wish to also demonstrate the Nemesis’ proficiency with weapons. I have requested that Umbrella plant various weapons in normally inaccessible locations throughout the city so that they are available should the Nemesis choose to utilize them. I received a positive response surprisingly quickly. It seems that this crisis has everyone neurotic._
> 
> **_28-09-1998_ **
> 
> _The Nemesis vocalized._
> 
> _It memorized the faces of the officers. I issued its commands. And it said “S.T.A.R.S.” back to me. I know not what to make of this development yet, but I will record it here for future contemplation._
> 
> _The helicopter is to depart soon. I just watched them load the Nemesis into the transport crate. It was an odd sensation to watch my creation be taken away, even if it is only temporary. I feel a sense of pride, a sense of anticipation. Is this how a father feels sending his young child off to its first day of school?_
> 
> _If so, then go out and prove your worth, my child._
> 
> **_29-09-1998_ **
> 
> _One of the U.B.C.S. monitors tasked with collecting combat data on the Nemesis contacted us late last night from an underground train evacuating the city. The Nemesis succeeded in locating Valentine and pursued her persistently, acquiring the flamethrower along the way. But for some unknown reason, it did not kill her. It spared her at the command - no, the pathetic request – of an unidentified female civilian. It was following this civilian around like a dog, protecting her. It then accompanied the civilian and two other U.B.C.S. operatives into the city to locate Dr. Nathaniel Bard, the man whose team was previously tasked with developing the T-virus vaccine._
> 
> _I was informed of this development immediately, and it left me greatly confused. Frustrated. Angry, even. I put my very soul into this Project. The Nemesis has been completely loyal to my orders for two months now. It never became distracted from accomplishing its tasks. What could it possibly have encountered in the field that caused such a drastic shift in behavior? Richards suggested that the civilian may be working for a rival company that has somehow obtained leaked data on the Nemesis Project that it then used to devise a way of manipulating the Nemesis. I was beyond furious. It took all my strength to withhold my anger. This was my creation, the product of my sweat and blood and tears, and to have it so suddenly ripped from my control had me incredulous._
> 
> _The Nemesis and the civilian were intercepted and captured by U.B.C.S. forces and transferred to Richards’ lab. I was baffled by this administrative decision. Richards’ lab is located further from Raccoon City than mine, and he is not even the head of this Project. He is not the one who has been working with the Nemesis, observing it, caring for it, teaching it. No, he has only watched from afar ever since the development of the parasite and the initial implantation attempts a decade ago. I am insulted that Umbrella thinks him a better candidate to handle this than me. Perhaps they believe this failure to be some fault of mine? Perhaps they believe that I did not provide sufficient discipline to my creation?_
> 
> _This woman who has stolen my legacy will be duly punished for her insolence._
> 
> **_30-09-1998_ **
> 
> _Cheryl messaged me very early this morning. She is incredibly disturbed._
> 
> _I now know why the Nemesis grabbed her that one day._
> 
> _My thoughts are scattered. I need time to collect them. I am granting Cheryl a week of paid leave to do the same._
> 
> **_01-10-1998_ **
> 
> _Richards has requested that I send him the genome sequence for the parasite. I have no reason to offer him my assistance at this time._
> 
> _I am promoting Cheryl to a curation position so that she can provide me with Richards’ files. I do not trust his competency with anything I have made, especially when I am located on the other side of the country._
> 
> **_06-10-1998_ **
> 
> _The Nemesis is gone. It has taken the female with it. Richards is dead, the facility destroyed._
> 
> _They should have kept me in charge._
> 
> **_09-10-1998_ **
> 
> _Cheryl contacted me today. Umbrella has put me in charge of developing a more effective containment protocol for the Nemesis. How characteristic of them, to ignore my authority only to come crawling back when they fall into darkness, like petty men blaspheming their god and then crying for undeserved forgiveness. They are lucky I pity them. I can be a merciful god, if that is what it takes to reclaim what is rightfully mine._
> 
> _After reviewing Richards’ files, I simply must bring myself to accept the reality of what I have truly created. I have created neither a bioweapon nor a man, but some unholy amalgamation of the two. I must find a way to snuff out that humanity._
> 
> _It appears that the Nemesis sees this female as its equal. How does it not remember that no man is equal to itself in power? I am its master, and all others are nothing more than its prey._
> 
> _Richards’ endeavors were a mockery of my progress. Emotional bonds do not strengthen, only weaken. His work is just as dead to me as he is._
> 
> **_27-11-1998_ **
> 
> _I just awoke from an incredible dream._
> 
> _I know what I need to do._
> 
> _I will restore my creation to its true glory._
> 
> _I will bring my creation home._


	19. Enough

_Wednesday, March 10, 1999_

After what feels like hours of wandering around the wrecked facility, you’re finally starting to think that this might not be hell after all. Now that you’ve slowed down to check all the rooms and calculate your turns rather than just run aimlessly in panic, you don’t feel like you’re going in circles anymore. The indescribable pain that once tormented your entire body has faded even further, leaving nothing but a dull burning sensation. Closer inspection of the computers suggests that it is the evening of March 10, meaning that you aren’t stuck in some timeless void. Closer inspection of the bodies reveals that this isn’t just some subconsciously designed hellscape full of Umbrella corpses. Alongside the broken bodies of researchers and guards, you find an occasional P.A.B.S. uniform. Whatever happened to these people, it was indiscriminate.

The alternative leaves you unnerved. If this isn’t hell, then how are you alive? At one point you reached up to poke at the bullet hole in your forehead only to discover it healed over. You suppose that explains why you suddenly had ten fingers and a solid torso upon waking up from death, or whatever it was that you were in. You’ve gained some kind of regenerative ability, but again, how?

For the briefest of moments, you wonder if you’re infected with the T-virus, but you quickly deduce that that wouldn’t make any sense. You aren’t some genetically engineered Tyrant; the virus would surely turn you into a zombie. Yet you clearly aren’t a zombie, being able to speak and make rational decisions. The human remains surrounding you don’t tempt your appetite in the slightest. Neither did the single living human you’ve met so far, at least for the short time he was alive. You know you didn’t get parasitized, either. You know from reading Faust’s files that the parasite usually kills the host, and the single host that managed to survive was still severely mutilated. You still look perfectly normal if your dark reflections in the powered-down computer monitors are anything to go by.

The thought of Faust’s files causes a resurgence of sadness in you. Nemesis’ first moments in this world consisted of being strapped down while his body tore itself apart. His first two months in this world consisted of being experimented on in the confines of some facility with no meaningful human interaction. His next six months in this world consisted of hiding away in constant fear of someone hurting you again, constant fear of hurting you himself. Now he’s out there somewhere, alone and angry and grieving and wracked by guilt. If this really is the real world, then you need to find him. You need to be there to advocate for him, to ensure that the P.A.B.S. doesn’t do anything horrible to him. He’s been through enough already.

When you finally get out of here, when you finally reunite, all you want to do is make things better for him. You’ll send someone back to your house to get all his things, especially that robe that he loves to bury his face in, and that rocket launcher in the closet. Now that you know what he likes to eat, you’ll give him all the raw meat he could ever want. If he wants to go outside, walk with you, see the forest, maybe kill some wild animals or something, then he can have at it. You’ll cuddle and kiss and make love, and you’ll tell him over and over just how much he means to you. Things can only be bad for so long, right? Things have to get better eventually. They have to.

You continue through the halls, looking in all the rooms, checking all the computers for any more useful files, but there is nothing of interest. You must be getting close to an exit at this point. It feels like you’ve been walking forever, and Chris implied that this facility isn’t even very big in the first place. Soon you’re bound to come across a glowing exit sign or a sunlit window.

Certainly, the P.A.B.S. has left by now, probably taking Nemesis with them. After all, there is no one alive in the facility to indicate that they would still be here. You just hope you won’t emerge in the middle of nowhere with nobody left to take you to wherever it is you’re planning to go after this. Even with your newfound stamina, you don’t exactly want to hike multiple miles through the wilderness in search of the nearest hint of civilization. At least you know you aren’t in the middle of the ocean again, seeing as how you drove the entire way here.

Where _are_ you planning to go after this, anyway? You can’t go back to the cabin now that Umbrella knows where it is. Would the P.A.B.S. offer you refuge? You don’t doubt that there would be undesirable stipulations in such an arrangement. It is the Private _Anti-Biohazard_ Service, after all. Even with Jill on your side, it could take some serious effort to convince the rest of the organization to give Nemesis a chance.

When you look inside the next room, you stop in your tracks. It’s another larger office filled with computer desks. More body parts litter the ground. What catches your eye is the large figure huddled on the floor, leaning against the wall, back facing you. You let out a breath that encompasses too many emotions at once.

“Nemesis...”

Even in the dim lighting, even from across the room, you can clearly see his body jolt at the sound of your voice. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at you, and he immediately grows tense. You can see from here that the metal device is no longer lodged in the back of his neck; it really is him again. Part of you wonders what he is doing here. Wouldn’t he have left with the P.A.B.S.? Maybe they couldn’t get him to cooperate in his state of distress? Surely, they wouldn’t have just left a sentient and emotionally unstable bioweapon sitting around.

You notice that he is covered in blood, more blood than would be warranted from simply impaling you. It suddenly occurs to you how all those people ended up torn to pieces throughout the facility. He must have barreled through the place killing everything in sight. He mourned your death by effortlessly massacring hundreds of people and then crying in a dark room for hours. You aren’t sure if you should feel flattered or something else entirely.

Oh god, is that why he’s still here? Is he the reason there were P.A.B.S. remains scattered throughout the carnage? Has the P.A.B.S. already deemed him too dangerous to salvage? They’ve probably got the place locked down right now, and they’re figuring out a way to destroy him, and you were stupid to think everything could ever get better, and, and-

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves. You’ll have to worry about all that later. The only thing you need to do right now is embrace Nemesis again, comfort him, show him you’re still alive, assure him that everything is finally going to get better, and this time it’s going to _stay_ better.

You begin to rush toward him, but you stop when he pushes himself across the floor in the opposite direction, frantically trying to maintain his distance from you. You feel a piercing pain in your soul at the expression of dread on his face. It doesn’t look right on someone like him. Why won’t he let you get closer? You thought he’d be ecstatic to see you. You move to take another step, and his hands rush up to sign.

_-Stay away.-_

You stare at him in confusion. Every part of you aches to just run over and embrace him, but he doesn’t want you to. Does he think you aren’t real? Does he think this is just some sick apparition triggered by his immeasurable grief? “Nemesis, it’s me,” you coo reassuringly. “I’m okay. See, look.” You bunch up your shirt to reveal your undamaged torso. “I don’t know how, but I healed. I even grew my missing finger back. I’m not dead anymore, I’m right here.” You lower your shirt again and take another step forward, and Nemesis quickly signs again, his movements lacking control.

_-Promised not to hurt mate, promised to protect mate. Killed mate anyway. Could hurt mate again. Stay away, can’t touch, too dangerous.-_

The plea hits you like a ton of bricks. Just as you feared, he blames this all on himself. You feel yourself growing teary-eyed again, but you fight it off. You have to be strong for him. “It wasn’t your fault. Faust is the one who-“

 _-Yes my fault. Didn’t fight hard enough. Didn’t remember mate soon enough.-_ He is practically shrinking in on himself in desperation to keep away from you. _-Not strong enough. Not human enough. My fault. Just a weapon. Just a monster. My fault. Mate has to stay away.-_

You’ve never seen him sign so spastically before. Every time he signs “my fault” just makes you want to cry even harder. You use all your strength to keep your voice quiet and steady when speaking to him. “No. None of that is true. This isn’t your fault.” You take a few more patient steps closer. He tries to push himself further away, but he’s cornered himself and has nowhere left to go.

_-All is true. Danger to mate. Hurt mate. Broke promise. Just a weapon. Just a monster. Not strong enough. Not human enough. Not good enough. Not enough. Will never be enough.-_

“No!” you cry out, unable to maintain your calm demeanor any longer. “No! You’re not just a weapon! You’re not just a monster! You’re not a danger to me! This isn’t your fault, okay? This isn’t your god damn fault! It wasn’t really you that killed me! You weren’t in control, okay? I know you’d never hurt me! You’d never break that promise!” You stagger forward a few steps, tears finally pouring from your eyes again.

_-My fault. Stay away. Will hurt mate, will kill mate. Don’t want to. Not enough. Not enough.-_

You keep walking anyway.

Nemesis looks hysterical now as he presses himself into the wall. _-Stop! Stay away! Stop stop stop stop stop-_

He lets out a whine of panic and tenses completely as you close the rest of the distance.

_-Can’t touch mate! Stay awa-_

You get down on your knees, and he flinches away with each of your movements. “Please, just stop,” you beg through tears. “Stop saying you aren’t enough, because it isn’t true. You _are_ strong enough. You _are_ human enough. You _are_ good enough. If you weren’t, then you wouldn’t have pulled through and remembered me in the end.” You slowly reach out a hand and place it on his own. He tries to pull it away, but you hold on. You’re determined to help him through this, even if it takes a little bit of assertiveness on your part. “I’ve been wandering through this place for hours now, and all I’ve wanted to do that entire time is find you and tell you that I’m okay, that I don’t blame you for any of this, that I really do still love you. You aren’t going to hurt me again. You’re in control now, and I still trust you completely. I know you would never hurt me. And the way I see it, you still never have.”

Nemesis stops trying to pull his hand away and instead focuses his attention on your eyes. You feel his hand twitch in your grasp, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to wipe away the tears coating your face. You reach out your own hand instead to cup his cheek, wiping at his own tears with your thumb. He flinches at your touch again, but significantly less than before. He starts to lean into your touch only to stop himself and lean away. Your hand simply follows.

_-Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.-_

You watch as his fist makes nonstop circles at his chest in an unending apology. You aren’t sure if he is apologizing for killing you or for not wanting to touch you. “I know you’re sorry,” you whisper. “It wasn’t your fault, but if it makes you feel better, I forgive you. Everything is okay now. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks you should be. Nobody can ever be enough for everybody. You have to choose who you want to be enough for. You have to choose who really matters to you.” You try your best to smile through your tears. “And for what it’s worth, you’re enough to me.”

You feel Nemesis relax slightly under your touch, and you manage to lean closer without him flinching. It seems like you’re finally breaking through to him. With slow, predictable movements, you shift your arms into the start of an embrace. He simply sits there, not flinching, not fighting back, just staring at you with that tearful eye full of melancholy. When it seems evident that he isn’t going to react poorly, you lean forward and embrace him fully, wrapping your arms as tightly as you can around him and resting your head against his chest. He lets out a keening whine. The last time you were pressed against him like this, you were dead.

“You’re my _everything_ , Nemesis. When I lost literally everything I had, when the world was falling apart around me, you were there for me. For a little while, you were the only thing I had. And you know what? You’re the only thing I need. I love you more than anything, and nothing will ever change that. Not Richards, not Faust, not Umbrella, not my father, not anyone."

You can feel Nemesis shaking as he slowly moves his arms to wrap them around you. His touch is fleeting, hesitant, afraid.

“You won’t hurt me,” you continue in the faintest of whispers. “I can’t do this alone. And I don’t think you can either. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you, to love you, to have a family with you, to make sure you’re always happy and loved and safe. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about it. I love you, and I always will. You are human enough, Nemesis. You. Are. Enough.”

His restraint finally gives. He melts into your embrace with a growl of heartache, his arms pulling you against him until you can feel his rapid heartbeat in his chest. He nestles his face into your hair and takes in your scent as desperately as one needs oxygen. You wish that everyone who doubts the two of you could see this moment. Maybe then they’d finally understand that he really is a person underneath that inhuman exterior, that he has a soul, a soul that is so much more human than all the assholes that have left both of you so broken by trauma.

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake up sooner,” you murmur. “I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

Nemesis just growls, clearly not wanting you to apologize for anything. You tilt your head up to kiss his jawline as one of your hands caresses his cheek, and he buries his face in your neck with a soft grumble. You continue to exchange gentle touches as you wait for his heartbeat to calm and his tension to fade. After a while he nuzzles the side of your head with the faintest purr. You smile and kiss his neck with a content hum. As someone with your own handful of traumas, you know that this is only the beginning. He won't really be the same after this, and he'll only heal with time and patience. But if you can at least get him to find comfort in your touch again, that's a good enough start.

As you lovingly run your hand along his arm, you start to contemplate Faust's files again. As upsetting as they were, you can't deny their informative nature. Nemesis' natural dietary preferences in particular stand out to you. You certainly haven't been cooking mostly meat. Is he asymptomatically malnourished because of you? It almost seems ridiculous, but you suppose it isn't impossible.

“Why didn’t you tell me you like raw meat?” you blurt out.

Nemesis grumbles as he pulls away just enough to sign at you. _-How does mate know that?-_

“I found a bunch of files about you on Faust’s computer while I was looking for you,” you say, and Nemesis gives you a quiet grunt.

_-Mate doesn’t eat raw meat.-_

“So? I’d still buy it for you.”

He gives you a look of confoundment. _-But mate cannot eat it.-_

You snort. “Nemesis, you’re a piece of work. It doesn’t matter if I can eat it or not. It’d be for you, not for me. I’d buy the entire butcher counter for you if you wanted it. I’d hire someone to go shoot a damn deer for you. Hell, I’d let _you_ go shoot a damn deer. Or kill it in whatever fashion you deem to be the most rewarding. Besides, your body needs the amino acids or something.”

Nemesis growls in a manner that you can only describe as appetited, and you can’t decide how to feel about the image of him digging into a Cervine carcass with the same enthusiasm that you would have digging into a slice of cake. Is it weird that you kind of want to see him do that? Because you kind of want to see him do that.

You lean against him again and take one of his hands in yours, tracing the creases on his rough palm. “I read something else too,” you continue. “I guess… I guess it actually is possible for us to have a child.” Nemesis purrs with subtle intrigue, and your face immediately flushes. “I mean, only if we really wanted to! Which we don’t have to! At least, not this soon. Definitely not this soon. But maybe later. _Maybe_!”

Nemesis simply nuzzles you again with a deep sound of amusement, and you attempt to relax a little. The last thing you need to do right now is get yourself worked up, especially over something that isn’t important right now. You feel one of his hands stroking your hair, easing you away from the edge you just about sent yourself tumbling over. Okay, so maybe the thought of having a child _is_ still a little scary.

"Sorry," you whisper. Nemesis rests his forehead against yours with a comforting grumble, and you relax completely. Both of you are such a mess, just a couple of hopeless romantics and emotional wrecks. The thought is enough to make you smile. "I love you," you say with subtle laughter.

"Love."

Your attention is drawn to the room around you, and you suddenly remember where you are. You were so engrossed in having found your mate that the rest of your situation completely slipped your mind. As much as you just want to sit here and cling to this fleeting moment of peace for as long as it will last, you know you need to get out of here. You need to find out what happened to Jenna. You need to let your mother know that you are okay. And if Nemesis really did tear apart those P.A.B.S. members in his blind rampage, you probably have an organization to talk down. You’ll have plenty of time to bond later.

“Hey,” you whisper as you rest your hand on his shoulder. “I think we should get out of here. The P.A.B.S. was here before you, uh… Well, I haven’t seen anyone in the halls since I woke up. Except one Umbrella guard, but he, uh… He’s dead now.”

Nemesis narrows his eye. _-Dead how?-_

You clear your throat uncomfortably. “I… killed him?” You hold up your hands to mimic holding someone by the neck. “I kind of just…” You jerk your hands and make a cracking sound with your mouth.

The look Nemesis gives you almost seems proud. _-First kill?-_

You purse your lips and nod curtly.

Nemesis growls approvingly. _-Mate is strong. Like strong.-_

You fail to stop yourself from grinning at him. Leave it to him to praise you for killing a man. “You flatter me,” you say with a quick kiss on his cheek. “But really, we should find a way out. This place makes me uncomfortable.”

With a grunt of approval, Nemesis pushes himself to his feet with you still held in his arms. He begins to stride toward the room’s exit, carrying you bridal style.

You push at his chest with your hand. “I can walk on my own, you know. I practically ran a marathon through this place.” He simply growls defiantly and holds you tighter, and you decide not to be difficult about it. His mind is probably reeling, part of him telling him to stay as far away from you as possible, another part of him telling him that he needs to protect you at all costs, yet another part of him telling him that you might just be able to hold your own now. It seems the part of him that needs to protect you is winning out right now, and you aren’t about to argue with that. Healing takes time and patience. Give him the time he needs. Give him the patience he needs. Besides, it feels good to just lay in his arms. You aren’t tired, of course, but you aren’t exactly bursting with energy either.

To your surprise, there aren’t any dead bodies in this hallway, but you suppose it makes sense upon further consideration. Nemesis only went as far as the room you found him in. It further supports your suspicions that you are approaching an exit, and sure enough, there is light at the end of the tunnel, or the hallway perhaps. As you turn into one of the hallways, the golden light of late sunset shines in through a large double door, drowning out the faint red of the emergency lights. You sigh and wrap your arms around Nemesis’ neck, longing for the freedom that is oh-so-close.

Your eyes have grown so accustomed to the darkness that even the low light of evening is enough to blind you as Nemesis steps through the doors and onto the pavement outside. The clicking of dozens of cocked guns fills your ears, and your eyes adjust to see multiple P.A.B.S. units pointing their firearms directly at you. Or, rather, directly at Nemesis. Nemesis growls threateningly and readies himself to obliterate any individual who dares to shoot a bullet in your direction.

“Hold your fire!”

You recognize that voice. Your eyes scan the line of men until your gaze falls on the figure of a woman pushing through, and a wave of relief washes over you. You pat Nemesis’ chest with one hand. “Hey, you can put me down now. I need to talk to Jill.” Nemesis grumbles at you, and you sigh. “I’ll stay right next to you, I promise.” With a look of reluctance, Nemesis yields to your request and lowers you to your feet, his body still defensively tense.

Jill approaches with caution, hands held up to indicate her innocent intentions. “(Y/n)?”

You offer your best smile. “What are you doing here?”

Jill furrows her brow and frowns. “I... I came as soon as Chris said you’d been killed.”

You frown back. They know you were dead. There's no telling how this will proceed. “I thought he was taking Jenna to the extraction point.”

“He did, she’s safe in a secure location. But then he went back for you, only to find that you had bled out from a hole in your stomach and Nemesis had started massacring everyone in the facility.”

“He was… grieving,” you murmur, your fears confirmed.

“He killed nine of our own men,” Jill retorts.

“He was _grieving_ ,” you reiterate a little louder.

Jill gives you a look that says she wants to be on your side but is having a hard time justifying it. “So you _were_ dead?”

“I… I think so?”

“Then how are you alive?”

“I don’t know. But everything hurts, and I really think I should see a doctor.”

Jill looks more confused by the second, and honestly, you feel exactly the same. “How did you die? Where’s the hole in your stomach?”

You lean into Nemesis, and he wraps his arms around you comfortingly. “What is this, twenty questions? Can’t we talk about this later? I just want to go home.” You suppose that is a stupid thing to say, considering that you don’t have a home anymore. But it doesn’t change the fact that that is what you want right now.

Rather than press you for answers, Jill hesitantly glances between you and your mate. It’s almost a look of pity, and you find you don’t like it very much. “Is he... docile again?”

“Just look at him. Of course he is.”

“Are you sure?”

You hide your face in Nemesis’ arm. “Yes.” The word is muffled but still decipherable.

Jill gives both you and Nemesis another analytical look, then sighs. When she speaks again, her voice is just a little softer. “Alright. Obviously you’ve been through a lot today. We can talk everything out at that secure location, okay? It’s a few hours away; you can spend that time resting in the back of the van.”

“V-van?” you stammer, remembering the dark glares and cruel laughs of those men from Umbrella, the walls closing in around you, the hard floor, the restraints around your hands, the gag in your mouth, the darkness, the fear, the uncertainty-

“Hey, (y/n), calm down! Breathe!” Jill holds out her hands and starts to approach you, but Nemesis growls at her to back off. You realize the cause of her sudden concern is that you’ve started hyperventilating. You beg for air to enter your tightening chest, trying your best to get a grip on the present. The feeling of Nemesis’ hands on your shoulders helps ground you a little, and you manage to push your way through the panic.

“I-I’m sorry,” you gasp, breath threatening to lose control again. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. I’m… okay.”

Jill looks skeptical. “You can ride in the front if you want. But Nemesis has to ride in the back.”

You quickly shake your head. “No. No, I need to stay with him. I can handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Jill asks with a concerned frown.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. Just… will there be other people with us? I… I don’t know if I can deal with that.”

Jill looks to the side. “You have to be supervised, but… Chris and I could be the ones to accompany you, if that’s any better.”

You nod after a moment of thoughtful hesitation. “Okay...”

Jill spins around to face the armed individuals still standing at the ready. With a single hand gesture, she commands them to lower their firearms. “We’re finished here. I’ll be escorting the Nemesis and the civilian. Chris, you’re with me. Delta Team stays behind to deal with biohazard containment. Everyone else, prepare to move out.”

You watch with slight awe as everyone goes into motion, moving about in organized chaos. Jill gestures for you to follow her to one of the vans. You walk along behind her, Nemesis trailing you closely. Upon reaching the van, you stop dead. Anxiety wells up in your chest as you stare into the dark compartment. It feels like you’re about to step into a tiny box. A prison. All those right angles, no windows, no escape…

Jill detects your unease and offers to help boost you up. With a deep breath, you try to regain your composure. You begin to accept her offer only for Nemesis to start growling defensively again. You give him a look; he may finally be willing to touch you again, but he's still incredibly paranoid, defensive, possessive, territorial. You have a feeling he won't be recovering from this for a long, long time.

“Nemesis, I know I just died and all, but it’s Jill. She’s okay.” Nemesis huffs, but he takes a step back and allows you to take Jill’s hand.

She whispers to you as she helps you up, a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “I’m glad you’re both alright.”

You give her an uncertain smile before clambering across the compartment and taking a seat on the bench. Nemesis steps into the vehicle with ease, hunching over to avoid hitting the ceiling with his head. He sits beside you, and the bench creaks precariously under his weight, but it miraculously remains intact.

“What are we doing?”

You turn to look outside and find Chris approaching. He pauses when he notices you and Nemesis sitting there, and you can’t read the expression on his face.

“We’re heading back to headquarters,” Jill replies nonchalantly as she jumps up into the van.

“I can see that,” Chris scoffs. “I meant, why are we riding with the B.O.W.?”

“(Y/n) was a little traumatized by her last road trip in the back of a military van, I believe,” Jill says as she takes a seat across from you. “I offered to ride with her to make things a little more comfortable.”

“I didn’t ask why we’re riding with (y/n),” Chris says from the edge of the van. “I asked why we’re riding with the bioweapon.”

“He goes where she goes,” Jill says matter-of-factly.

Chris raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Just get in, Chris. We can talk about it on the way.”

Chris doesn’t budge. “I have to inform nine families that their loved ones aren’t coming home again because of that thing, Jill. I know this woman is your friend, and she saved your life and all that, but this thing is a monster, and we need to take the necessary precautions to-“

“He is not a monster!” you yell, and Chris looks at you with surprise. Nemesis gives him a glare for making you upset.

“It killed nine people-“

“He didn’t know any better! He wasn’t socialized into human society like we were, okay? All he was ever taught before meeting me was how to kill people! How else would you expect someone like that to react to his mate dying in his arms?”

Chris’ expression is impossible to read now. “His _mate_? I mean, _its_ … I… What?”

“Chris, come on,” Jill persists with a spark in her eye. “You want the full story? Then get in.”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” you murmur as you wrap yourself around Nemesis’ arm. He purrs at your touch, but his eye remains locked on Chris, still glaring daggers, almost daring him to upset you again. “He was after Umbrella. It’s their fault I was killed, and he was angry and confused and grieving. I’m really sorry about those people, but… they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sorry.”

Chris looks between you, Nemesis, and Jill, a conflicted look in his eyes. You can tell he desires answers, but he doesn’t trust Nemesis at all. Nonetheless, his curiosity inevitably gets the best of him. He hops into the van and shuts the doors behind him with a heavy sigh, then sits on the bench beside Jill.

“Alright, let’s hear this story.”

Jill looks at you, and you look at her, both of you silently asking who should speak first. Finally, you open your mouth to begin.

“Well, it all started with a cereal bar.”


	20. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting this out a little later than usual. My apologies!

_Thursday, March 11, 1999_

“Miss (y/n)? Do you understand what I just said?”

You blink blankly at the woman standing in front of you. You are aware that she has been speaking to you for the last few minutes, telling you something or other about all the tests she ran on the blood samples she took from you and Nemesis, but you zoned out when she started spouting technical terminology that didn’t seem too important. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to lose focus like that, but it isn’t like you did it on purpose. You’ve had a difficult time paying attention to anything ever since you got here, wherever here even is. You haven’t eaten or slept for over a day now, not to mention you literally died. Your mind was on the fritz even without this doctor shoving the methodology behind complicated medical procedures down your throat.

You shuffle in your chair, your eyes darting around the examination room. “Uh… I’m sorry, I kind of… wasn’t… paying attention. Can you just repeat the important parts?”

The doctor swallows nervously, her gaze drifting up to the bioweapon towering behind you. They tried to get Nemesis to wait outside, but that didn’t go over very well. It’s obvious that this doctor wants to get out of his presence as soon as possible, and you zoning out certainly isn’t conducive to accomplishing that.

“Miss (y/n), I understand that everything is probably very overwhelming for you right now, but please try to pay attention.” She rustles through the papers on her clipboard. “You tested negative for the T-virus,” she explains. “And interestingly enough, the Nemesis tested negative as well.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

The doctor nods. “You’re right, it doesn’t. So we ran some comprehensive tests, and we found that while neither of you are infected with any T-virus strain we have previously encountered, you did test positive for an entirely different strain that we have never seen before. Genetic analysis suggests that it originates from the most common T-virus strain, which evolved as a result of constant interaction with the mutagenic secretions of the… what did you call it… NE-alpha parasite. This created a viral strain that could persist in the Nemesis’ body with much greater stability, all whilst maintaining its regenerative and strength-enhancing properties. Your antibodies for this strain are very prevalent, and assuming your immune system is functioning correctly, this should negate any effects the virus may have. However, it would appear that some of the viral DNA already integrated into your own genome, likely long before you developed enough antibodies to fight off infection. It doesn’t make much sense, really. I suppose something like that _could_ happen if you were inoculated via indirect absorption of bodily fluids versus direct contact with the bloodstream, but…”

You clear your throat uncomfortably. “Like, uh… like… having sex?”

The doctor stares at the clipboard like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Yes, like that. But certainly you didn’t…”

You sigh. How many people has Jill _not_ told about this already? “Look, I… We’re intimate on a very regular basis.”

Her eyes shoot up to look at you with something akin to panic. “W-what?”

You slouch in your seat. “If you could not make a big deal out of it, that would be nice.”

The doctor stammers for words for a brief moment as she makes a conscious effort to not appraise the massiveness of the B.O.W. compared to your small physique. “I… well… I suppose… I suppose that makes sense, then…”

“Why didn’t I regenerate before now?” you interrupt before she can say anything she’ll regret. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been injured since we started, uh, you know… doing things.”

The doctor furrows her brow. “Well… This strain is optimized to function in tandem with the secretions of the parasite. Unless those secretions were introduced into your bloodstream somehow, it likely would have remained dormant.”

“Would… would being wounded with one of his tentacles do that? They come from the parasite, I think.” You try to phrase the inquiry as carefully as you can. You still haven’t told anyone how, exactly, you were killed. You have a feeling telling people Nemesis did it won’t go over well, even if you make every effort to specify that he was being controlled.

The doctor gives you a contemplative nod. “Yes, I suppose that would do it.”

You frown. “So… I have a unique T-virus strain, and now I can regenerate and survive things that would probably kill me otherwise.”

She nods again. “Yes, exactly.”

You sit in silence for a moment, staring at your hands. “What happens now, then?”

The doctor taps her fingers arrhythmically on the back of the clipboard. “Well, you seem to be stable. We’re going to quarantine you from the general public for two weeks, just to be safe, but you can still interact with the people here at the facility. In fact, I believe Mr. Redfield wanted to speak with you after we cleared you. And Ms. Valentine informed me that you may wish to see a certain Jenna Stewart, maybe make some monitored phone calls.”

You nod. You aren’t really looking forward to speaking to Chris again, but getting the chance to speak to Jenna and your mother sounds nice. “Okay.”

“After you're done taking care of everything, an escort will show you to where you’ll be sleeping. As for the B.O.W…”

“He stays with me,” you assert. Nemesis growls in concurrence.

“I… Yes, of course. Of course he does.” She straightens the collar of her doctor’s coat nervously. “If you wait here, I can go check Miss Stewart out of the medical bay. I would just take you there directly, but, uh, I think… I think bringing biohazards in there would be breaking a lot of protocols.”

“I understand. Thank you.” You reach out a hand as a gesture of goodwill, but she simply flinches away from you. You watch as the doctor excuses herself from the room, skirting around the perimeter in an obvious effort to stay as far away from you and Nemesis as possible. A subtle frown creeps onto your face at her reluctance to even touch you, like you’re some kind of monster.

Well, actually, that isn’t necessarily untrue at this point.

With the other human presence in the room gone, Nemesis relaxes and sits down on the floor beside your chair. He hasn’t hurt anybody, but his mannerisms have been blatantly aggressive toward anyone who steps within a ten-foot radius of you. It took an eternity to coax him into letting that doctor take a blood sample from your arm. This is the first time you’ve seen him this calm since you got here. You wrap an arm around his shoulder and lean over to kiss the side of his face, and he purrs as he leans into you to rest his head against your chest. Your fingers run across his collarbone absentmindedly as you rest your head on his with another kiss.

You aren’t even upset, but a few stray tears roll down your cheeks. Perhaps you’re just overwhelmed by all of this. Perhaps your body just isn’t used to being somewhere safe.

_Knock knock knock._

You turn in the direction of the door to find Jenna standing there, bandaging wrapped around her head. She smiles tiredly upon making eye contact with you. Nemesis immediately sits up straight, emitting a threatening growl. You open your mouth to say something, but Jenna beats you to it.

“Sorry to interrupt. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out here,” she murmurs. Her usual energy is gone, replaced by unmistakable physical and emotional exhaustion. “They said Umbrella killed you, but some weird virus brought you back, and now he’s being all mean.” She nods in Nemesis’ direction.

“You can come in,” you say. “There’s another chair right there. Just don’t get too close, I guess.”

Jenna cautiously enters the room and sits in the chair against the wall perpendicular to you. Nemesis growls again, but with slightly less effort. You know he recognizes Jenna as a friend; he’s just being paranoid. Jenna turns her attention back to you and frowns. “Oh gosh, have you been crying?”

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. “N-no…”

Jenna just frowns harder. “Are… Are you doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” you mutter. “Just… tired. Really tired.”

Jenna offers a smile of solidarity. “Same.”

You point to her bandages. “What about you? Are you okay?”

She raises a hand to touch the bandaging. “Oh, this? Yeah, I’m fine. I just got hit with something sharp during the scuffle with the flashbang. Nothing serious.”

“What about… everything else?”

Jenna tilts her head slightly, contemplating what you might mean, but she understands quickly. “I’m still kind of jumpy, I suppose. I tried to get some sleep, but I couldn’t. They let me call my family. Did anyone tell you how the P.A.B.S. found us?”

You shake your head. “I never thought to ask.”

Jenna grins slightly. “I thought he was just bluffing, but I guess Steve really did come looking for me when I wasn’t home on time. You know those guys that Nemesis killed? I guess Steve slipped a tracker into one of the body bags. The P.A.B.S. showed up after we left, and he took them back to our house so they could find us with his computer.”

You chuckle lightly. “You couldn’t make this shit up.”

“I guess my parents freaked out when a military truck pulled up to the house,” Jenna continues with a hint of amusement. “They thought Steve got caught with drugs or something. Nope, turns out I just got kidnapped. Honestly, I’m glad they found out that way. Less for me to explain over the phone. They were a little mad that we couldn’t tell them who kidnapped me, or where I am right now, but… I guess hearing me alive was enough. Oh, and, uh, Steve wanted me to tell you he’s sorry for not trusting you. Don’t know what brought that on, but who am I to argue?”

You sigh. “No, he shouldn’t trust me. It’s my fault you got dragged into this mess in the first place. I should never have let you think I was safe. You’d be at home sleeping right now if it wasn’t for me.”

“Actually, I’d be another name in that serial killer’s journal if it wasn’t for you,” Jenna retorts.

“You would have figured something out.”

“Or maybe I wouldn’t have.” She leans forward and gives you a look of sincerity. “If I could go back and do everything again, I wouldn’t change any of my decisions. Sure, I might not be in this mess if we hadn’t become friends. But then Steve wouldn’t have come looking for me, and he wouldn’t have helped find you, and then you’d still be in Umbrella’s hands, whether that be dead or alive or something else entirely.”

You give Jenna an exasperated look. “You’re stupid to want to risk your life all over again just to save mine.”

“But you deserve to live. I’d sacrifice a lot for you.”

“You’re just saying that because you like me!” you blurt out.

Jenna gapes at you, her eyes wide with embarrassment. “I… you…”

“It’s obvious, you know? That secret you wouldn’t tell me… the fact that you’re gay… You wouldn’t tell me because then I might realize that you like me as more than just a friend.” You continue to ramble with no reservations. “I’ve just been dragging innocent people into my fucked-up life with reckless abandon. There’s no excuse for it. You shouldn’t be okay with this if you’re thinking objectively, so you obviously aren’t.” You look at the ground. “I don’t want your sacrifice, okay? You’re a good person, Jenna. I just want you to be able to live a normal life where you don’t have to worry about biowarfare and all the other fucked-up shit that happens around me.”

Jenna scoots the chair forward a little, earning her another short growl from Nemesis. She doesn’t say anything for a while, and for a second you wonder if you said something you shouldn’t have, but she finally speaks again with a hushed urgency. “Okay, so maybe the reason I approached you in the beginning was because I had a stupid crush on you,” she starts. “And maybe I was a little upset when I found out you were already with Nemesis. But that was months ago. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I knew I needed to move on, so I did, even if it took a little while. There’s plenty of fish in the sea, as they say.” She sighs. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t still like you as a friend. Heck, you’re my only friend, (y/n). And you’re a good friend at that. Friendship isn’t about getting close to someone because they don’t have any problems, it’s about getting close to someone _despite_ their problems. I don’t care if you drag me straight into the second zombie apocalypse. You’re my friend, and I care about you.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers. “You’re so infuriatingly innocent, Jenna,” you quietly say. “You shouldn’t trust me. You should just-“ You stop mid-sentence. You realize what, exactly, you are about to say. You’re about to tell her that she should stay as far away from you as possible, that you’re only going to inevitably hurt her.

Hypocritical.

You sigh. “I’m sorry. You… You’re right. Friendship just feels so arbitrary in the grand scheme of things, you know? It feels so naïve. It isn’t going to stop people from dying horrible deaths. But I guess I shouldn’t be trying to chase away the tiny handful of people who actually care about me right now. We need all the help we can get right now. All of us.”

Jenna smiles gently. “Well, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“(Y/n)?”

You turn to look at the man now standing in the doorway. Nemesis growls right on cue. “That’s me.”

“Ah, good. I hate to interrupt your little rendezvous with…” He turns to look at Jenna. “Hey, aren’t you Steven’s sister?”

Jenna smiles nervously. “Yeah?”

A warm grin spreads across the man’s face. “I could tell, you’ve got the same face. You’re lucky, you know that? That kid really cares about you.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice and all, but… who are you, exactly?” she asks.

“Name’s Conrad,” the man replies. “I worked with your brother on reading that tracker. Smart kid, executing something like that.”

“O-oh.” Jenna nods. “He mentioned you on the phone. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Did you need something?” you ask.

Conrad turns his gaze toward you. “Oh, Chris Redfield wants to speak with you now. I’m your escort.”

You try your best not to look visibly anxious as you nod and rise from your seat. Nemesis immediately follows suit, glaring at the man in the doorway. You turn to Jenna. “You keep resting up, okay? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Have fun,” Jenna says with a little wave as you and Nemesis walk past her toward the door. You nearly scowl. This isn’t going to be fun at all.

As you and Nemesis follow Conrad from a nonthreatening distance, you think back to the long ride here. It took the better part of an hour to relay your entire story to Chris thanks to his countless interruptions, mostly of the shocked exclamation variety. Most of that time was needed just to get past the initial confession of “I fuck the bioweapon.” Even when you felt like you’d moved on to a different event in your retelling, he would inevitably go back to questioning the how and why of making love with something so horrendous. You appreciated Jill trying to keep your situation a secret, but you wish she’d at least frontloaded Chris with some information just to spare you from the brutality of listening to him scoff for hours on end.

The circumstances didn’t matter to Chris. You know it wasn’t an issue of comprehension. He very clearly understood that Nemesis lacks any sociocultural context for human interaction. He very clearly understood that Nemesis can think and feel at least somewhat along the lines of how a human would. He very clearly understood just how much you love Nemesis and just how much Nemesis loves you. And he very clearly understood that the vicious killing of those nine P.A.B.S. operatives was a product of insurmountable grief, not an act of intentional malice toward any specific individual. But none of that changed the fact that Nemesis is a bioweapon, that he managed to slay an entire facility of people in less than an hour with no exertion at all, that he is literally designed to kill and destroy, that his genetics give him a naturally aggressive disposition, that he is perhaps more animalistic in some of his tendencies than would be acceptable for any normal human.

Chris knows fully that when you look at Nemesis, you see someone who is very human. But that doesn’t have any effect on what Chris sees. Chris sees a Tyrant, and that is that.

“You know, I was hoping I’d get to meet you two,” Conrad says, drawing you from your thoughts. “This Nemesis of yours looks exactly like the description I heard. But I’ve got to say, you don’t look anything like how I pictured you.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Uh… Why do you say that?”

You can see Conrad’s shoulders stiffen as he walks several feet in from of you. “Oh, uh, I mean… I just thought the woman who managed to romance a B.O.W. would be a little more… intimidating? Maybe a little less… small?”

You narrow your eyes. So Jill will tell this guy about your relationship, but she won’t tell Chris? This guy is just as bad as those Umbrella assholes. You open your mouth to say something brash, but Conrad continues speaking before you get the chance.

“I mean, don’t take that the wrong way, of course! I don’t know shit about the two of you, so maybe it was stupid to just make assumptions like that. Those were my initial thoughts, that’s all.” He cracks his knuckles without much thought. “If I’m being honest, I’ve got mad respect for you. You’ve obviously got a serious grasp on how people work if you were able to seduce this guy. You’re just out there doing whatever the fuck you want, making it work. That’s commendable.”

You lose your words, simply gawking at the back of this man’s shirt. The last thing you expected from anyone as a result of this chaos was _respect_. “I, uh… thank you? I… I don’t think a lot of people would agree with you, but… I appreciate it.”

Conrad shrugs. “Ah, they’re just making superficial judgements. I bet your mate there is a pleasant guy when he isn’t growling death threats at anyone who even looks at you funny.” Coming from anyone else, you would probably take the statement as a character attack. But with the way this man says it, you can tell he means it in good will.

A smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, he’s a little on the defensive right now, considering that Umbrella just kidnapped us. Can you blame him?”

“Not at all,” Conrad replies. “Not at all.”

Conrad comes to a halt in front of a door, and you stand nervously a fair distance away. The walk here was shorter than you had hoped. The facility is small, which is to be expected considering that the P.A.B.S. has only been operational for two months at best. Jill told you she was able to procure this place after it was foreclosed by some non-profit that fell to the wayside back in ’97. For a building that has sat empty for two years, the organization managed to fix it up pretty well.

Conrad raps his knuckles against the door a few times, and a familiar voice rings out from the other side. “It’s open.”

Conrad steps back and gestures for you to proceed. “I’ll wait out here,” he states. “I’m supposed to escort you two to your quarters after this.”

You nod and give the man a surprisingly genuine smile. “Thank you.” With that, you push open the door and step into the room, Nemesis following closely behind.

The room appears to be a typical office, featuring an L-shaped desk with a computer and stacks of documents, as well as multiple shelves and filing cabinets filled with even more documents. A handgun sits nonchalantly on the far end of the desk. Behind the desk, sitting in a swivel chair, is Chris. He doesn’t even glance up as you enter, simply gesturing with one of his hands toward the chair on your side of the desk. “Take a seat.”

You sit down in the chair and find it to be unpleasantly stiff. Nemesis hovers behind you, glaring down at the man who seems much too preoccupied with the contents of his computer monitor. Jill always speaks highly of Chris, almost disconcertingly so, but you fail to see his so-called charm. He looks tired. Not stressed, necessarily. Just tired. Your eyes drift to a single picture frame sitting beside the computer. It is a picture of him with a young woman who looks somewhat similar in facial structure, the two of them smiling. Siblings, perhaps?

“I received your medical evaluation,” Chris states, still not looking away from the computer.

“And?”

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, then does a double take when he sees Nemesis standing behind you. “You brought the B.O.W. into my office?”

You glower at him. “Yes,” you simply state.

Chris takes a deep breath, finally spinning the chair so that he can face you. “I like you, (y/n),” he says. “Jill likes you. A lot of people like you, it seems. Your heart is in the right place. But this…” He gestures to Nemesis. “I don’t know what to do about this.”

“’This’ has a name,” you mutter.

“I am aware that it has a designation.”

“ _He_ has a _name_.”

Chris frowns. “(Y/n), I want you to know that I just got off the phone with a Ms. Misha Cox. Do you know who that is?”

“No.”

“Ms. Cox is the fiancée of Mr. Gino Roberts. Or, should I say, _was_ the fiancée of Mr. Gino Roberts, before he was mercilessly torn apart.”

“I-“

“This is a young organization,” Chris continues without paying your attempt to speak any mind. “We hadn’t yet participated in any direct combat before yesterday. We hadn’t yet lost any lives. Of course, it was to be expected that some individuals would make the ultimate sacrifice eventually. But so soon, and so unnecessarily, it is painful to see. It is painful to make these phone calls, (y/n). It is the most difficult part of any job like this one. It is painful to say those words of finality, only to hear the crying and screaming of anguished loved ones-“

“Is this what you wanted to talk about?” you interject. “I already told you, I’m sorry about what happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But it did, and I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.” You think about how those family members must feel, how they’ll grieve. Like Nemesis grieved for you, how his entire world shattered. Only _their_ loved ones aren’t going to miraculously return from the dead. You feel uncomfortable.

Chris sighs. “No. This isn’t what I called you here to talk about. But I just wanted to put the decisions you’re going to help us make into perspective.”

You furrow your brow. “Decisions? What decisions?”

Chris taps his fingers against the desk anxiously. “With our organization being so new, we’ve been utilizing support from various pre-existing entities, one of which being the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team operating under USSTRATCOM. They were made aware of the nature of yesterday’s operation, and their response was… unexpected.” He folds his hands and leans forward on the desk. “They are very interested in your relationship with this B.O.W., (y/n). Because as it turns out, this isn’t an isolated case.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Chris glances at Nemesis, then back at you. “There is another human-Tyrant pair. A _mated_ pair. Now that the federal government is aware of your existence as well, USSTRATCOM wishes to work closely with the P.A.B.S., and more specifically _you_ , to learn more about these B.O.W.’s and their tendency to… go rogue under _specific circumstances_.”

You take a moment just to absorb this information. There’s someone else like you? Someone else like Nemesis? You take a few deep breaths, unsure of what this could possibly entail. “So what decision does that leave to me? Doesn’t the government usually have the final say in these kinds of matters?”

Chris leans back in his chair. “You need to decide how you want to portray your situation,” he starts. “All they know is that you and a Tyrant have formed some kind of intimate bond. They don’t know anything about you, anything about him- er, it. Jill and I can tell them whatever we want, but they want to hear it from the source. Either you humor their theory that Tyrants procured from Umbrella can be safely retrained and used in anti-bioterrorism endeavors, or you tell them the truth about how they’re playing with fire. Extremely unpredictable, aggressive, short-fused fire that has already killed nine innocent lives and is bound to kill more.”

You inhale and exhale with a consciously slow rhythm. “Fire is only dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I’m asking you to make the responsible decision here,” Chris says. “All you have to do is give them all the information about this B.O.W.’s dangerous nature even in seemingly controlled environments. There won’t be any repercussions. The P.A.B.S. will continue to provide you with protection, with the stipulation that the Nemesis remain contained and closely monitored by professionals, ensuring the safety of everyone involved.”

“Oooooor,” you start, dragging out your vowels with unnecessary theatrics, “I could tell them all about how Nemesis has saved multiple lives and has the potential to save countless more with the proper training and resources, and I could further support the rights of Tyrants, including the right to not be locked away in a facility like some kind of animal, all while working closely with two like-minded individuals.”

Chris gives you a look that you can’t decipher, but it looks somewhat exasperated. “(Y/n), if we choose to go forward with this, it could have serious negative consequences.”

“It could also have serious positive consequences,” you retort. “I know you want to fight bioterrorism, and I know you want to help people, and I know that those innocent people dying like that was a horrible tragedy, and I know that working closely with bioweapons of any kind completely contradicts all of that. And most importantly, I know I’m not going to change your mind overnight. But I can tell you with every ounce of confidence within me that these human B.O.W.’s are, indeed, human. They can think like humans. They can feel like humans. And I know that with patience and support, they can learn to interact with humans in a safe and self-controlled manner. They are complex, intelligent, independent entities programmed to think otherwise. Is it really their fault that they were thrown headfirst into this confusing world and told that their entire purpose is to follow orders and kill people? They’re victims of circumstance, and turning a blind eye to that is inhumane and unethical. I’ll talk to whoever I need to talk to about this government business, and I’ll tell them everything I just told you and whatever else it takes to ensure that such a horrible infringement on basic rights never happens.”

Chris stares down at the desk in silence for many heavy seconds after the conclusion of your impassioned speech. Finally, he lets out a deep breath. “USSTRATCOM plans to send a representative over on Monday. You have the weekend to prepare any materials you wish to present.” He looks to the side. “But if anyone gets hurt because of this… those sins are on your shoulders, not mine. Maybe you would choose differently if you were the one making these phone calls…”

You stare at the floor, the discomfort from before returning. “Is that all you needed?” you ask quietly.

“For now,” Chris answers.

With that, you stand from your seat without another word and head back out into the hallway where Conrad is waiting for you. He looks at you and Nemesis like you just caught him in the act of doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Eavesdropping, without a doubt. You wonder if he knew about those nine people Nemesis killed before now. You wonder if his opinion of the two of you has changed at all.

He clears his throat and straightens his posture. “That was quick.”

You shrug, your mood lowered by the persistent thought of the innocent lives lost because of you. “The conversation was efficient.”

Conrad nods. “Well, I guess I’ll show you to your dormitory now. It’s temporary, so you’ll have to excuse the small size… But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

You and Nemesis follow Conrad through a few more hallways, passing a few people along the way. Some of them shy away immediately, sidling past Nemesis with their backs pressed against the wall. But to your surprise, a lot of them seem more intrigued than frightened, turning their heads to stare wide-eyed at the bioweapon as they pass.

“Here we are.” You bring your attention forward again to find that Conrad has stopped in front of a door, which he opens to step inside the room. You follow cautiously behind him, and Nemesis ducks through the door behind you.

What you find in the room leaves you nearly speechless. You had anticipated nothing more than a bed that is much too small and maybe a desk or a chair or something. Instead you are greeted by a familiarly gigantic mattress, minus the bedframe. A television sits on a small desk alongside a stack of VHS tapes, a spiral notebook, a wallet, several personal documents, and a holiday card. The open doors of the locker-style closet reveal familiar articles of clothing befitting either a reasonably small woman or an impossibly large man, including a distinctly familiar leather coat. A single necklace hangs on one of the hooks on the inside of the doors. A rocket launcher, useless due to lack of ammunition, leans against the wall in the corner of the room.

“You… You got our stuff…”

Conrad grins at your flabbergasted expression. “Eh, we figured we’d grab the things that seemed important while we were there. You already lost everything you had back in Raccoon City, right? We didn’t think you’d want to start from square one again, at least not so soon.”

You struggle to hold back tears, and Nemesis wraps his arms around you when he senses your sudden surge in emotion. You turn to look at Conrad. “Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to us.”

Conrad shrugs, but you can tell he is immensely satisfied by your reaction. “It was nothing. Well, other than the rocket launcher. That took some convincing.” He snorts at his own words. “Toilets and showers are just a little further down this hall in case you need to freshen up. Breakfast is at 0700 hours sharp. I’ll come get you then, and I’m not going to wait on you if you’re still sleeping, so you might want to make use of that alarm clock on the desk. If that all sounds good, I’m going to head out. It’s been a long couple of days.”

You nod and smile gratefully as you lean into Nemesis, eager to finally get some time to rest. “That sounds good to us. Thank you again.”

Conrad gives you a curt wave before stepping back out into the hallways. Just as he goes to close the door, he peeks back in with a sly smile. “Oh, and you don’t have neighbors, so you can, you know, make noise or whatever. Just saying.” He ducks out of the room and closes the door before you can even process what he’s implying.

As great as such implications would usually sound, you’re way too fucking exhausted.

You don’t even bother to change into sleep clothes. You just pull away from Nemesis and collapse onto the mattress with a groan, wrapping yourself up in the extra blanket that has been provided. Nemesis is quick to join you, and you toss the blanket over his body and pull over a couple of pillows.

As you nestle against the warm body of your mate, you feel him reach his hands around you so that you can see him signing.

_-Didn’t know P.A.B.S.-_

You squint at him. “What do you mean?”

_-Didn’t kill allies on purpose. Didn’t recognize. Now Chris does not trust mate.-_

You smile sadly and touch your forehead to his. “I know.”

- _Sorry_.-

You feel relieved to see him say that word. He understands that mistakes were made. If he was really the monster that Chris thinks he is, then he would never be able to regret something like that. “I know we can’t bring those people back, but… we can learn from our mistakes, I suppose. Even the really serious ones that we can’t fix.”

Nemesis grumbles and strokes your hair, and you close your eyes at his touch. You wonder if the other human-Tyrant pair that Chris mentioned is like this, what your mother would shamelessly describe as ‘lovey-dovey’. How did they meet? What led to intimacy? What kind of life have they been living since then, somehow endorsed by the government itself? Your pondering is cut off by a yawn, followed by the realization that the room is bright enough for you to see lights through your eyelids.

“Can you get the lights?” you whisper.

Nemesis purrs at you, and a tentacle extends across the room and flips the light switch, immersing you in restful darkness. Normally you would lie awake thinking about everything that has happened, about USSTRATCOM’s proposal, about this mysterious other human-Tyrant couple, about Chris and Conrad and all the other new faces you have to remember. Tonight, however, you are more tired than you have been in a long time. Tomorrow is a new day, a day when you can take some time to think about these things. Right now, though, all you want to do is sleep.

“Goodnight,” you whisper.

Nemesis might have responded, but you’re asleep before you can notice.


	21. UPDATE

Hello everyone, this isn't a chapter, I just wanted to post a quick update. I've got some good news and some bad news (but don't worry, it's not _terrible_ news).

The bad news is that I'm in the process of weaning off my antidepressants, and the withdrawal is a BITCH. I've got these awful headaches, as well as intense vertigo to the point that I feel like I'm going to faint just by moving my eyes too fast. And that's obviously not conducive to typing huge chunks of text on a computer screen. I've been out of commission for a few days now, so I sadly don't have a new chapter to upload today. I'm going to take a few days just to let my brain settle back to normal, and then I'll be back to updating on my regular schedule. That's also when I'll reply to all the comments I've received. My apologies to anyone who was looking forward to the Sunday update!

As for the good news, whenever I post the final chapter, I will also be posting the first chapter of part three. Two chapters in one day! I'm also planning out several little side-stories involving various other bioweapons. And you better believe they're gonna be fluffy and smutty and angsty and just all around a good time.

I'll delete this little update thing when the final chapter is published. Until then, I hope you all are having a lovely day/night (or at least better than mine lol)! Stay safe out there, and I'll see you soon!

-RobotWendigo


	22. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m _♪baaaaaaack♪_
> 
> Happy New Year! My apologies for leaving everyone hanging. Recovery took a bit longer than expected, and then I was thrown into end-of-season data collection and analysis for my research, and then another med adjustment that COMPLETELY fucked me up for a few weeks, so things have been a bit hectic around here. Thank you to everyone for the kind comments left since then. I’m so thankful that everyone has been so patient and understanding.
> 
> I’ve got a whole onslaught of updates though! First and foremost, I’m finally wrapping up this installment (with a short smut scene to make up for the wait) and moving on to the next: the backstory for our _other_ couple. I’ll return to Nemesis and Reader afterward, but I just want to try something a little different first.
> 
> Additionally, I’m now on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RobotWendigo) in case you want to follow me for fic updates and just general life updates? Or talk to me and stuff? I dunno if anyone cares about that lol. I've also never done social media in my life and I have no idea what I'm doing so... bear with me.
> 
> Finally, I think I’m finally facing the reality that updating twice a week amidst research is not exactly sustainable, so I’m reducing my updating schedule to weekly on Sundays to avoid burnout. Seriously, I was writing 10k+ a week before this hiatus. Apparently that’s a lot?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed part 2 through the twists and turns, and I hope to see you again for part 3! Thank you once again for your patience and support, I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
> 
> -RobotWendigo

_Monday, March 15, 1999_

You take a deep breath as you stare at the door in front of you, Conrad to your left and Nemesis to your right. It’s a little annoying that Conrad is required to accompany you literally everywhere outside the hallway hosting the dorms and the bathrooms, like you’re some time bomb that’s going to detonate without constant supervision. Although, you suppose that isn’t too far from the truth, considering Nemesis’ violent outburst at the Umbrella lab. It helps that Conrad’s proved to be rather chill, but still, it bothers you on principle. The superficial freedom within some areas of the P.A.B.S. facility fails to mask the fact that you are essentially being held under lock and key.

On the other side of this door is a complete stranger, a representative from USSTRATCOM who you’re going to have to convince to trust you, to whom you’re going to have to make a case for Nemesis. If you’re lucky, he or she will be an open-minded empath. You can get support and protection through the federal government, maybe even help in the fight against bioterrorism. If you’re less lucky, he or she will have a stick up their ass, and you’ll probably have to fight off some government assholes just to keep Nemesis from getting locked in a room for the rest of his life, or worse.

You turn to Nemesis. “Okay, we’ve got one shot at this,” you start, and he looks down at you. “This one conversation is going to determine everything that happens from here on out. We’ve got to make a good impression, okay? _You’ve_ got to make a good impression. I know you’re still on edge, but just… just _try_ to behave, okay? No being all… territorial. No growls, no threats. You don’t have to be _normal_ … because you aren’t... but just don’t be a pain in the ass.”

Nemesis grumbles and glares back at the door, and you shake your head with a sigh. He’s been completely different since what happened, easily agitated by the presence of literally anyone who isn’t you, more alert, more paranoid, more aggressive, and as much as you’d hoped he would be getting over it by now, he simply isn’t. This is going to be a disaster.

“I’ll be waiting right here,” Conrad states. “Just poke your head out if anyone needs anything.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. You step forward and bring a hand to the door, pushing it open to enter the large conference room.

The room seems much too large for a personal meeting like this. A long rectangular conference table sits in the center of the room surrounded by a dozen or so swivel chairs. The ugly beige walls and orange carpet are illuminated by white overhead lights that don’t mesh well together at all. Whiteboards adorn the far wall, an overhead projector sits on a cart in the corner, and the only splash of characterization in the entire room is a single blue vase filled with fake sunflowers sitting slightly off-center on the table. It’s stifling. Nemesis steps into the room behind you, and Conrad quietly closes the door.

Sitting at one of the long ends of the conference table is a man who looks strongly built even though he is somewhat thin; perhaps lean is the correct word to describe it. His dark blonde hair lays smooth, bangs parted slightly off-center and swept to the sides of his face. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt and some jeans, more casual than seems appropriate for a government representative. Piercing blue eyes turn to face you, and he immediately sits up a little straighter.

“(Y/n) and Nemesis?”

You stare, taken aback by the fact that this man bothered to address your mate by name. “Y-yeah.”

The man nods and gestures to the chair across the table with a small smile. “Great. Take a seat if you’d like.”

You maneuver around the table and pull out one of the swivel chairs to sit, your eyes not leaving the federal employee the entire time. He’s warmer than you expected. More welcoming. Or maybe he’s just tricking you into thinking that. Nemesis follows closely, opting to just hover beside your chair. He probably wouldn’t fit in one of the other chairs even if he wanted to. The man reaches a hand across the table, and Nemesis starts to growl under his breath, but he falls silent when you give him a sharp glare over your shoulder. You reach out your own hand and shake the man’s hand with a forced smile.

“I’m Leon Kennedy, USSTRATCOM.”

You nod. “It’s a pleasure.” It’s really not. You’re more tense right now than you’ve been in… only a few days, actually. This hasn’t been the best week.

Leon leans back in his chair, seeming surprisingly comfortable for someone whose every move is being meticulously appraised by an eight-foot-tall bioweapon. “Do you mind if I record our conversation? I’d like to take some direct quotes, if that’s alright with you.”

You shuffle nervously. “Uh, go ahead, I guess?”

Leon retrieves a small audio recorder from the jacket you just now notice draped over the back of his chair. “Great, thanks.” He sets the recorder on the table and hits the record button. “Alright. I’m sure they’ve already told you why I’m here,” he begins. “USSTRATCOM is very interested in this emerging trend in benevolent human-Tyrant interactions. They thought the first one was a fluke, but now you two have come along, and, well, there have been some discussions. Some ideas are floating around, ideas about how they might be able to form better-trained task forces with a more complete understanding of how Tyrants operate, how they might just be able to directly combat fire with fire with two of Umbrella’s own weapons on their side.”

Chris’ previous words ring through your head. “Fire, huh? You guys aren’t afraid to play with fire?”

Leon chuckles. “Oh no. Not at all.” He leans forward and taps his fingers on the table. “I was in Raccoon City during the outbreak too, you know. I got to see one of these guys in action, see what they’re capable of, see how self-controlled they are when they want to be. They’re incredible, aren’t they? A combined strength, resilience, and combative intelligence unlike anything man has ever seen before. It’s really…” Leon trails off and leans back again. “Well, I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you. You’re the one who’s supposed to be convincing me, right?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t sound like you need much convincing.”

Leon smiles. “Maybe so, but there’s a lot of people higher up than me that aren’t so on board with this idea of integrating two Tyrants into anti-bioterrorism operations. Too risky, they say. Too expensive. Too difficult to keep under wraps. You don’t need to convince _me_ , but you need to convince _them_. I need something to quote, some ground to stand on. I need you to give me something, anything.”

“Is their other person not enough?”

Leon shrugs. “He’s alright, I guess, but a second opinion never hurt anyone.”

You tilt your head slightly. _He_? You don’t have any problem with that, it’s just not what you were expecting. “Okay, well… I prepared some ideas. I guess I’ll just start talking?”

Leon nods. “I’m all ears.”

You take a deep breath. You’ve been running through this conversation in your head all weekend, so much so that it’s kept you up at night. You aren’t a professional speaker by any means, and while you like to think you’re able to make a convincing argument, you’ve never had to persuade the United States government before. It’s a little nerve-wracking.

“Alright, uh, first point. Raccoon City was a mess, right? You were there, you would know. The government had no way of effectively dealing with it through anything short of complete annihilation. They can’t just deal with every bioweapons outbreak or bioterrorist attack by blowing it up. Just think of all the innocent lives lost, all the collateral damage, all the wasted resources, all the negative publicity. And there _will_ be more outbreaks and attacks, without a doubt. This is only the beginning. Things are only going to get worse from here. And if we aren’t willing to adapt, then there’s no way we can keep protecting people. And like you said, what better way to adapt than to fight fire with fire, to turn the enemy’s own weapons against them? Tyrants are strong, intelligent, combatively competent, nigh indestructible, and most importantly, completely immune to the T-virus’ more undesirable effects. Why send in troops of susceptible individuals when you can send in a single immunized individual of equivalent power instead?

“Second point. The people making all these governments decisions weren’t there when this went down like I was, like you were. They didn’t see all those people dying in the streets, getting eaten alive, shot to death, infected. These people suffered. We can’t let something get that out of control again. When things like this turn up, we need to hit hard and fast, or more innocent people are going to die. And if there’s anything that hits hard and fast, it’s a Tyrant.

“And final point. I thought Nemesis was unique in his ability to think the way he does, to break out of the purpose he was made to fulfill. I thought it had something to do with the parasite, and it probably still does. But now you’re telling me that there’s _another_ Tyrant out there breaking from his chains, and that changes this entire game. I don’t care what anyone else has to say, I’ll defend this stance to the ends of the earth. Tyrants are human. They’re human beings that were designed, engineered, predisposed, and programmed to be obedient _objects_. They weren’t made to feel, or think, or question. So they don’t. But they _can_. Umbrella is creating these incredible, intelligent beings and then shaping them into mindless killing machines. If we can just… If we can just procure the untrained individuals, we can do something completely different. _They_ can do something completely different.”

Leon holds up a hand to stop you. “Wait, are… Are you suggesting we integrate _more_ Tyrants?”

“I mean, _if_ we ever find any more,” you reply. “They’ve got to make them somewhere, right? Store them somewhere? Train them somewhere? What happens if we ever find that place? What are we supposed to do about it? Just kill them all? Just shoot them down, blow them up, lock them away? If they were regular people, there’s no way anyone would call that ethical.”

Leon leans forward and rests his chin on his hands. “What you’re proposing is some kind of rehabilitation effort.”

You blink blankly. “I… sure. Yeah. I guess so.” To be honest, you weren’t even sure that was where you were going. But here you are. And it sounds fucking insane now that you’ve said it out loud. It also sounds like something Chris would smack you over the head for suggesting. “I know they can be dangerous – they’re literally made for war – but they at least deserve that chance, I think.”

Leon’s questioning stare slowly shifts into a a light laugh. “Appeal to logic, appeal to emotion, appeal to ethics. You really thought this through, didn’t you?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know how much they told you about us-“

“I’m aware of the nature of your relationship, if that’s what you mean.” He says it plainly, not showing any hints of either approval or disapproval. You don’t like not being able to decipher his opinion on the matter.

You look down at your lap. “Then… Then you know how personal this is to me, how personal my understanding is. If this other Tyrant is anything like Nemesis… if _any_ other Tyrant is anything like Nemesis… then they have souls, Mr. Kennedy. Beautiful, complicated souls that deserve the opportunity to just be alive.”

Leon leans back into the chair again with a look that you can’t interpret. “I like you, (y/n),” he says with a spark in his blue eyes. You wait for the “but” that follows, but there is none. “That was very well put. Especially that last part. Beautiful, complicated souls. I like that. You’re definitely giving me something to work with here.”

You let out a sigh, not realizing how tense you’ve become over the course of the conversation. “God, that’s a relief to hear you say,” you murmur. “Nemesis doesn’t always get the best reaction from people, but I’m sure that doesn’t come as a surprise to you. It’s nice to have someone just… listen, for once.”

Leon waves a hand nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, I know the other pair personally. You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. We’re on the same page.”

You give a sudden jolt, your self-control overtaken by curiosity. “You know them personally? Really!? What… What are they like?”

Leon tilts his head contemplatively. “Ah, well, they’ve got a story similar to yours, meeting in Raccoon City and all. The human’s a good-looking guy, if I do say so myself. The Tyrant can be a real pain in the ass though. Sophisticated motherfucker’s so picky about everything. A real lovable piece of work. But hey, I won’t say too much. I’m sure you’ll get to meet them soon.”

“Well, I can’t say I relate to the pickiness, but lovable piece of work sounds pretty accurate. Also pain in the ass.” Nemesis just huffs, and you turn to look up at him with a quiet chuckle. “And what about you? Got anything to add? You’re probably the one with more interesting things to say.”

_-Mate is better with words. Mate said everything.-_

“But what do you think about working with the government? Fighting against bioterrorism and all that?”

_-Get to fight Umbrella?-_

“I mean, yeah.”

_-Want to see Umbrella burn. Want to tear creator to bloody pieces and crush his bones.-_

“I’ll take that as willingness to cooperate then,” you say. When you turn to look back at Leon, he’s staring between you and Nemesis like you just spontaneously combusted.

“What… was that?”

You frown. “What?”

Leon points a shaking finger at Nemesis. “His hands. What was he doing with his hands?”

“Uh… sign language?” You tap a finger against the edge of the table. “The other pair doesn’t… do that?”

Leon gawks at you. “No, they… they don’t, uh… How long has he known how to do that?”

“I think we started in November,” you reminisce. “I have a friend who taught us. She’s going to college for it, wants to become a professional interpreter.”

“That’s… I didn’t even…” Leon puts his head in his hands and continues to gawk at you. “Jesus Christ.”

You offer a concerned smile. “Are you okay?”

Leon shakes his head and quickly regains his upright posture. “Yes! I’m fine! I just… we… he… they… this whole time…” He takes a deep breath. “It never occurred to any of us that we could do that. Teach him… teach him sign language. We’ve all just been playing the world’s longest game of twenty questions these last six months. Yes’s and no’s, an occasional so-so, and that’s it. I just can’t believe nobody thought of this sooner…”

You see the opportunity to help Jenna and take it by the throat. “Well, uh, that friend I mentioned is really good at what she does. And she’s already comfortable around Nemesis, so I’m sure she’d warm up to another Tyrant pretty quickly, if you guys wanted to, I dunno, hire her out of college or something?”

Leon nods, looking a bit more antsy than before. “Certainly they’d be willing to consider it. I’m sure it’ll be easier to bring in people who already know what to expect than to have to explain every little detail to every person we hire. Can I have the name of this friend of yours? For background checks, future contacting, all that.”

“Oh, yeah. Jenna Stewart. Or, uh, Jennifer Stewart, I guess.”

“Great.” Leon looks to the side, finally having regained his collected demeanor. “Okay, so, this is a little more uptight than I would like, but I was also given a list of questions you’re supposed to answer. Or, I mean, I guess he can answer them too, since he can… do that, apparently…”

“Ask away.”

“Right. First off, we were told his biology is unique compared to other Tyrants. It’s pretty obvious just by looking at him that he’s different, but any specific details you can provide would be helpful.”

“Well, he’s basically just a Tyrant with a brain parasite,” you say. “NE-alpha is what they call it. I don’t know exactly how it works or anything, just that it secretes something that interacts with the T-virus and makes him…” You try to think back to everything you read on Faust’s computer. “I think I read that it made him taller, gave him more muscle mass. He’s more apt to use weapons too, I think. I was in a pretty high stress situation whenever I had access to this information, so there’s only so much I retained.”

“And how would you describe his disposition?”

You hum to yourself. “That’s really dependent on circumstance.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s predisposed to be a bit aggressive, I suppose. And maybe aggressive isn’t even the right word for it. I’d call it more… territorial. He doesn’t like it when people encroach on his territory, you know? That territory mostly being, well, me. But he’s pretty indifferent when he doesn’t feel personally threatened, or that _I’m_ being threatened.”

Leon nods. “Sounds standard, honestly. The other Tyrant can be like that as well.”

“He’s still rational, though,” you add. “He can be reasoned with, as long as he deems you worthy of reasoning. He’s usually pretty calm when he’s with people he’s familiar with. Me, Jenna, my mother… that’s about it, really.” You frown at the thought of your mother. You managed to get in contact with her again by calling your aunt, who luckily enough had already taken her sister into her home for temporary residence. Your mother had been afraid to go back home to your father after his episode, and you felt a strange relief knowing that she finally had the mind to distance herself from him. It was hurtful to everyone involved that you couldn’t divulge any details of what had happened or where you are now located, but at least she knows your aren’t dead. At least, not anymore.

Leon raises an eyebrow. “Your mother has met him?”

“Yeah, she’s the reason I knew Umbrella was coming for us in the first place. She warned me over the phone.”

“And she’s fine with all this?”

You stare at the table. “I think so? Or else she’s a really good liar.”

“Who else knows outside the P.A.B.S. and USSTRATCOM? And Umbrella, of course.”

“My father, and Jenna’s younger brother, and-“ You stop, deciding that it might be a good idea to not mention Carlos if he truly is trying to keep a low profile. “That’s it, I think.”

“Are there any specific people you might consider to be enemies? Anyone we should worry about?”

“I mean, there’s always my father,” you say dryly. “He’s the one who called Umbrella on us. He’s… not as keen on this as my mother is. A few Umbrella employees come to mind, too. Cynthia Cheryl, some guy named Sinclair… But the most important would be Daniel Faust.” At the mention of the name, Nemesis immediately hunches over and growls with aggressive loathing.

Leon watches the bioweapon curiously. “Jesus. That last one sure got a reaction.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Nemesis starts to sign before you get the chance, leaning forward almost as if to sign directly to Leon, an interaction that surprises you in its complete lack of inhibition. _-Pain and control. Killed mate. Will rip open his ribs and shred his flesh. Want to soak in his blood, want to hear him scream.-_

“What’s he saying?”

“Uh…” You smile nervously. “He just said he wants to kill him. He’s the main scientist behind the Nemesis Project.”

“That looked like a lot more words than just ‘I want to kill him’,” Leon ponders.

“I mean, he likes to go into detail,” you say with an anxious chuckle. “Lots of… gruesome detail.”

“Would you say he’s a bit of a sadist, then?”

You sink down into the chair, unsure if you should discuss just how much enjoyment Nemesis derives from sinking his fingers into the flesh of his prey and completely mutilating them. “I… He doesn’t have any qualms with getting his hands dirty if need be.”

Leon gives you a knowing nod. “Fair enough. Speaking of combat, I know you mentioned weapons earlier. Can you describe his combat prowess?”

“Why, you guys planning on fighting him?” you ask skeptically.

Leon snorts. “Of course not. We’re on the same side here. Strategizing is just a lot more effective when you already know what your allies are capable of.”

You try to sit back up in your seat, not liking how much information you are being asked to throw into the open. “Well, he’s good with weapons, like I said. Big weapons. He doesn’t need those to be formidable, though. He’s surprisingly agile. He can hit hard. He mostly prefers to rip things apart, though, unless he’s toying around and wants to drag it out. But for the most part, he keeps it efficient. Oh, and he has tentacles.”

Leon looks like he’s trying not to gawk again. “Tentacles.” It’s more a statement than a question.

“Yeah, it’s a… it’s a parasitic thing. I don’t think- hey!” You swat at the tentacle that has crept around the back of the chair to wrap around you, and Nemesis lets out a sound something like a dark laugh. “God, I’m sorry. He isn’t normally- Well, uh, he _is_ normally like this, but I haven’t seen him acting normal around anybody since the incident last week.” You take note of just how relaxed Nemesis is right now, recalling how he even signed to Leon. What happened to his previously defensive behavior? He hasn’t even returned to treating Jenna normally yet. Certainly it isn’t simply the agreeableness that Leon exudes. If that were the case, Nemesis wouldn’t be so defensive around Conrad either.

“Ah, speaking of the incident. I’m also supposed to tell you to keep your, uh, ‘medical condition’ under wraps. If word gets out that a T-virus strain spread to someone from a Tyrant without the accompanying context of how that happened, things could go in a direction we don’t want. And the context is supposed to stay on a need-to-know basis as well. As far as the general people who will be working with you know, you just managed to get a Tyrant to be on friendly terms, nothing more. Not my decision, but I understand where it’s coming from. The other pair is fairly secret as well. It’s in your personal interest, really.”

You nod. “That’s fine. People finding out about this has led to a lot of trouble as of late. I’d rather avoid more of that if possible.” You don’t mention just how much you hate the way the doctors here have been treating you since your initial medical evaluation. It makes sense that they would want to work with caution, considering that you are technically a walking biohazard. But they could still try not to be so obvious about not wanting to even breathe the same air as you. If you can avoid people finding out about all this, maybe they’ll treat you like a normal fucking human being again.

“Is there anything else we should keep in mind when making plans on how to proceed?” Leon asks. “Any behavioral triggers, living preferences, etcetera? For either of you.”

You hum to yourself as you think over your answer. “As far as behavioral triggers go, nothing too specific comes to mind. He’s very territorial right now, after everything that happened with Umbrella, so I wouldn’t recommend anyone running up to me out of nowhere or anything. But as long as people give me reasonable space, he should be fine. As for living preferences, uh, I guess we want to keep our things.”

Nemesis raises his hands. _-Food.-_

“Oh, right. His optimal diet is red meat, preferably raw, but honestly he’ll eat anything. It’s more of a nutritional need than a preference.”

_-Also preference.-_

“…Okay, it’s a nutritional need and a preference.”

Leon rests his elbows on the table surface. “He eats _raw meat_? Huh. The other Tyrant much prefers cooked.”

You shrug. “Yeah, well, some people like their steaks still mooing, and some people like it charred.”

_-Still alive very good. Can make it die, can watch it bleed. Can have still alive?-_

You chuckle nervously. “Uh… can… can he maybe, um, have access to… livestock? Like... emphasis on the _live_ part.”

Leon raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

_-Forgot thrill of tearing apart prey, taste and smell of fear. Was recently… reminded.-_

You tap your fingers together. “I think he was growing restless where we were, you know? He was… designed to hunt, after all. It isn’t necessary, per say, just… a quality of life thing.”

Leon hesitates for a moment, but he eventually gives a curt nod. “I… can see what I can do.”

You tap your fingers on the table in thought, quickly trying to think of something else to serve as a distraction from the topic at hand. “There are also some personal medications that I’ll need.”

Leon nods. “We already got your medical information. That won’t be a problem.”

“Ah, right. Of course.”

“Is there anything else you feel we should know about?”

After another moment of contemplation, you shake your head. “Nothing really comes to mind, no.”

“Excellent. Well, I think this concludes our preliminary correspondence.” Leon retrieves the audio recorder from the table and stops the recording, then shoves the device back into his jacket pocket. “Unless, of course, there’s anything you’d like to talk about off the record?”

You raise an eyebrow, wondering if this is some kind of test. “I… no? I mean, I’m not sure what juicy gossip you’re expecting me to spill that would be at all relevant to you.”

Leon opens his mouth and starts to say something, but he quickly cuts himself off with a cough. “Sorry, I just… Never mind. I’ll get started immediately preparing a report on the information you’ve provided. The P.A.B.S. should be hearing back from us in a few days to discuss how to proceed.”

“I hope talking to us was _somewhat_ helpful,” you muse.

“Very much. I really appreciate all your input on the matter.” He smiles strangely as he holds out his hand again. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you both. Hopefully we’ll be meeting again very soon.”

Something feels off about this departure, not even in a bad way, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. “Same to you. Best of luck with that report.” You reach out to shake his hand and brace yourself to tell Nemesis off for being territorial again, but he seems to have no problem with the physical exchange, simply standing beside you and observing closely, quietly. You quickly withdraw your hand from Leon’s grasp, a bit unnerved by his uncanny ability to come across as nonthreatening to what is currently the most paranoid bioweapon on the planet. With one last smile and nod, you step back toward the exit, Nemesis following closely behind.

You tell yourself that went incredibly well. Leon came across as surprisingly understanding and seemed to approve of the points you made, even if some of them were a bit off-handed or unexpected. And Nemesis was actually well behaved for once. Perhaps too much so. You turn to look at him as you step out of the room, and he is already growling under his breath again at the fact that Conrad is leaning just a bit too close to the doorway where you are now standing. Back to his usual self.

So what made that USSTRATCOM agent so different from literally everyone else?

_Wednesday, March 17, 1999_

_Knock knock knock._

Conrad stands patiently outside the door to your dorm, waiting for you to answer. He taps his foot as a minute or so passes to no avail. You couldn’t have gone anywhere without him, so he knows you’re in there. Unless, of course, you’re down the hall in the bathrooms right now. Maybe he’ll just come back in a few minutes-

You open the door ever so slightly, just enough to peek out at whoever is in the hallway. Conrad quickly takes note of your irritated expression, but you relax slightly when you realize who it is. Still, you don’t look entirely happy. You open the door a little further for him to see your entire face.

“This is a bad time,” you deadpan.

“It’s two in the afternoon on a Wednesday,” he states, as if that matters.

“Time is a social construct.” You turn to look to the side at a guttural noise of irritation from within the room. “Just give me a second!” you whisper insistently before turning back to Conrad. “Is this important or…?”

Conrad notices you running your fingers through your hair like you’re trying to smooth it out, leaning out from behind the door such that he can only catch a glimpse of your bare shoulder, your face just a bit flushed, and his expression changes to one of embarrassed realization. He clears his throat as he tries to wipe the look of exasperation off his face. “I came to inform you that we’ve just heard back from our USSTRATCOM correspondents.”

You raise an eyebrow, suddenly a bit more interested in whatever was important enough to interrupt your personal time. “That was fast. What did they say?”

“They said that they’re interested in working with you. They’d like the two of you to transfer to one of their facilities on the east coast to work more closely with a specialized task force. They’re looking to provide training and protection in exchange for your cooperation. Redfield has the specifics, so I’ll take you to speak with him about it. Er, later, that is, seeing as how you’re currently… preoccupied.” He tries and fails to hide a small smirk.

You stare awkwardly at the ceiling. “Yeah, that… That sounds good. Uh… Come back in an hour or so. I’ll make sure I’m… available.”

Conrad nods. “Right. I’ll come back at three.”

“Great. See you then.” You quickly start to close the door, eager to shut down the awkwardness of the conversation before it kills the mood waiting for you in the room entirely. Of course, Conrad manages to slip in one last comment before the door shuts completely.

“Have fun.”

Your face turns a bright shade of red as you loudly close and lock the door. At least Conrad is a good sport, but of all the times for him to show up wanting to talk professional business, of course it has to be when you are stark naked. Can nobody have some peace around here?

Well, it _is_ two in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

There might have been a time when two in the afternoon on a Wednesday didn’t feel like an appropriate time for such things, especially when you still had your job. But you don’t exactly have any scheduled obligations at the moment, and considering everything that has happened over the last week or so, you’ve found yourself in need of stress relief.

Very specific, very frequent stress relief.

Frequent enough that it’s honestly a surprise nobody has interrupted sooner.

You feel a tentacle snake its way around your waist, and you turn to look back into the room at Nemesis waiting for you on the mattress. He growls seductively as he gives the tentacle a slight tug, demanding your attention, and you gladly refocus toward the matter at hand.

“What? You don’t like waiting?” you taunt as you saunter toward him, stroking a hand along the tentacle wrapped around you. You’re excited to see one of the inhuman appendages again. Yesterday was the first time he dared to touch you with one since the _incident_ , and his apprehension was understandable, all things considered. You thought you’d be apprehensive as well, but it seems you don’t have a problem with it at all. It was just one incident, after all, and that hardly compares to all the moments of pleasure that vastly outnumber it.

Nemesis gives an impatient grunt as a response, pulling harder at your waist to get you to him faster. You concede to his avidity with a calm smile, letting yourself fall against his chest with a soft hum.

“Where were we?” you murmur before kissing at his jaw, and he pulls you tightly against himself with arms and tentacles alike, his purring reverberating between your bodies. In all honesty, you’d just been getting started when Conrad came knocking. He’s lucky he showed up when he did, otherwise you would have just made him wait outside. He mentioned you don’t have neighbors before, but you wonder how soundproof the hallway is.

Perhaps it was your eagerness at finally being touched by those tendrils again last night, or perhaps not, but something encourages Nemesis to test your limits. Several more tentacles appear from his body and encompass you, wrapping around you, caressing you in your most sensitive places, and you melt into the unique sensation with a pleasured sigh. You continue to run your fingers along their oddly smooth surfaces, the sensitive tendrils twitching under your touch.

A few of them find their way upward, sliding gently across your face, through your hair. You turn your head slightly to carefully take one between your lips, and Nemesis eagerly responds to your silent gesture. The tendril pushes its way past your lips, and you entwine your tongue with it, licking and sucking until you receive a guttural growl of approval in return. Another tentacle forces its way into your mouth, and you push yourself further along the appendages until you can feel them in your throat.

You feel him everywhere, inside and outside, all-encompassing, comforting, warm. The tentacles continue to slither across your skin, prod into your throat, caress your breasts. He leans down to lick at your neck and jaw, and it isn’t much longer before you find yourself falling apart to the familiar feeling of him entering you. You press yourself against him, wanting to feel him deeper, and the tentacles retract from your lips so that he can hear the sounds you make in return.

Time feels nonexistent as your bodies move in unison, your legs locked around his body, his hot breath against your hair. You bury your face in his chest, your sounds of pleasure mixing intermittently with his possessive growls. Senseless words fall from your mouth, words attempting and failing to coherently express the extent of your adoration. To think that you almost lost this forever, that you _did_ lose it for at least a little while, just makes you cling to your mate more desperately, as if you’ll be sucked back into the emptiness of death the instant you let go. You’ll never let go.

Faust will have to pry this from your cold, dead hands. And for what it’s worth, killing you has recently become significantly more challenging.

You cry out softly as release washes over you, your body trembling within the gentle yet firm grasp of strong arms and writhing tentacles. Nemesis is quick to follow, his groaning of your name euphoric and unrestrained as he empties his seed into you. Your fingers dig into his back, your body still heated, your thoughts distant, contemplating the only downside to these intimate moments being the inevitability of their end.

The tentacles slowly withdraw from around you, disappearing back into Nemesis’ body, and he lowers himself with you still wrapped around him to the mattress with a growl of contentment. You feel the haze of afterglow already threatening to lull you into unconsciousness, but you fight it off, knowing that you have places to be after this.

You glance up at the alarm clock sitting on the desk, the one that wakes you up so gratuitously every morning at 6:30. It’s still only 2:30, a good half-hour before Conrad said he’d be back. You settle yourself into Nemesis’ embrace, perfectly content to just lay here for that entire duration.

_-Who was outside?-_

You blink the exhaustion from your eyes as Nemesis leans back slightly to sign at you. “It was just Conrad,” you whisper with a subtle smile, finding it somewhat humorous that Nemesis didn’t care to inquire about the potentially-important visitor until _after_ everything else was said and done.

_-Wanted what?-_

“USSTRATCOM decided they want us to work with them. Conrad’s coming back in half an hour so we can go talk to Chris about it.” Nemesis scowls slightly at Chris’ name, the casual animosity between the two still evident, and you can’t decide if you should laugh or frown at the notion. You decide to steer the conversation somewhere else. “It sounds like that Leon Kennedy guy painted us in a good light.”

 _-Good.-_ The tension brought about by the subtle conflict with Chris is immediately dropped in favor of a comfortable calm, and you suddenly recall the inconsistency that has been plaguing your mind off and on for the last 48 hours.

“You sure took a liking to Leon faster than I expected,” you state. “I’ve never seen you grow comfortable around a stranger so fast before, let alone _now_.”

Nemesis shrugs. _-Trust Leon._ -

“Why, exactly?”

_-Understands mate.-_

You recall how Leon had spoken fondly of the other pair, and you suppose his experience with the two could help him understand you a little better. Still, it seems odd that Nemesis jumped to that conclusion so fast. And he still isn’t even comfortable around Jenna or Conrad. “Is it because he’s friends with the other couple? Just because he-“

_-Mate misunderstands.-_

You pause and stare at Nemesis’ hands, unsure of what that means. Before you can ask for clarification, he continues.

_-Leon smells trustworthy.-_

You nearly laugh at the seemingly nonsensical claim. Sure, you know Nemesis has incredibly keen senses compared to the average human, but how can one smell an aspect of a person’s character? “What the hell does trustworthiness smell like?”

_-Like Tyrant.-_

You furrow your brow. “What… Why would-“

_-Leon is other Tyrant’s mate.-_

“WHAT!?” You gawk, nearly throwing yourself from the mattress. Is that why Leon reacted so strongly to the sign language realization? Why he was so strongly on your side right from the start? Why he spoke so highly of Tyrants, called them incredible, even went so far as to seem moved by your own description of ‘beautiful and complicated souls’? “He… They… You can’t be serious! We were talking to him the whole time!? Why didn’t you say something!?”

_-Thought mate could smell it too.-_

“Oh my god.” You drag your hand across your face, trying to process this revelation.

You have a feeling your next meeting with Leon is going to be very interesting.


End file.
